


Blood Games

by Frenzy5150



Category: Frozen (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gladiators, F/M, Historical References, gladiator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-08
Updated: 2016-02-24
Packaged: 2018-05-05 15:19:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 46,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5380058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frenzy5150/pseuds/Frenzy5150
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gladiator!AU: Kristoff's a Gladiator who's fought his way to the top. Anna's a condemned prisoner who's starting at the bottom. Both have secrets worth fighting for. There are no friends in the pit, but there's something about the redhead that pulls at him. Kristanna. Rated M for blood, violence, & other questionable content. Disclaimer: i own nothing, this is for fun only.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Arena

**Author's Note:**

> Chapters vary in rating from General to Mature

The first time Kristoff saw her she was being herded towards the arena along with the other prisoners. Feeding the lions gave the mob a taste of blood before the main event, which the big blond barbarian was preparing for. But unlike the other condemned who cringed and cowered and wailed as they shuffled off to their fate, she walked silently, ramrod straight with a carefully blank mask of a face. Her coppery hair caught his attention and the haunted, furious look bleeding through her mask piqued his curiosity, but he gave her little thought as he saw to his weapons. The lions were always thorough, and he knew he would never see her again.

 

Kristoff was a gladiator, and a good one at that. His place at the top of the gladiator upper class was earned with years of effort. And blood. Normally non-Romans could not attain such a rank, especially barbarians captured from the far north like Kristoff. But his prowess in the arena was unmatched, and his large size and exotic coloring made him a crowd favorite, so the rank could not be denied him.

 

The second time Kristoff saw her was a shock, and not only because he expected to see her dead in a lion’s maw. The tall gladiator stood at the portcullis awaiting his turn in the arena. Instead of the usual murmured, bated anticipation, the crowd shrieked animatedly, so something must have been different. Kristoff glanced about, assessing the arena floor with cool brown eyes. The prisoners were dead; the lions dragging their corpses back to their cages at the goading of a score of whip-wielding _lorarii_ , or handlers. But the redhead still stood, and that was definitely different. She was holding a pair of small, rusty, bloodied _siccae_ , low and loose like she knew how to use them.

 

_Where’d she find those?_ he wondered. Seven _lorarii_ circled her while an eighth lay writhing at her feet, clutching at his ruined neck. Kristoff smirked; the _lorarii_ were cocky above their station in his eyes. Their lax upkeep of the arena was the obvious source of the redhead’s blades, so they deserved whatever became of them. One got too close to the young woman, and she lashed out like a striking viper. He fell squealing, clutching at the entrails boiling out of his gut. Now only six _lorarii_ circled her, warily, and Kristoff grinned, impressed.

 

Anna was terrified, exhausted, but most of all, angry. She would be damned if she let these low-born dirt grubbers so much as touch her. She had to stay alive! Too much depended on her not dying. The prisoners had bolted like rabbits once the lions were let loose in the arena. The beasts quickly gave chase, and easily ran down their terrified victims.

 

But not all ran. One spritely fellow managed to climb halfway up the portcullis before a huge black-maned beast plucked him off like an overripe fig. Anna ran too, but with a purpose. A glint of metal caught her eye earlier when she was pushed to the center of the arena. She prayed to the gods she doubted even existed that it was more than a scrap of old armor. She ducked around a screaming plebian and grabbed at the glint, and smiled when her fist came up with an old _sica_. It was small curved blade, made to slash and produce a lot of blood but do relatively minor damage, unless you knew how to use it. She ran back towards the center of the arena, bending over once more to grasp at another glint and coming up with a second _sica_. She grinned, keeping the lions in sight while she searched for a way out of the arena. Two blades were always better than one, her old teacher Kai had often said.

 

The lions knew well enough to stay away from her and seek easier prey, and they did so with brutal efficiency. But the handlers were a different story. It wasn’t long before the whip-wielding _lorarii_ flooded the arena floor to clear it for the main event, and they had no qualms against attacking the one prisoner left standing. But it wasn’t as easy as they anticipated. Two lay dead or dying at the redhead’s feet, while six still surrounded her, herding her towards the portcullis. She snarled, ignoring the blood and the pain, keeping her blades low and ready to strike. The mob roared, thrilled by the unusual spectacle.

 

Kristoff was surprised he was holding his breath as he watched her, even more surprised that he couldn’t make himself look away. Two of the handlers feinted with their whips, attempting to throw her off-balance. She ignored them expertly, lunging at a third and raking her _sica_ down his exposed face. He screamed, blood pouring from his ruined eye. The fourth cracked his whip at her, and she jumped back with a hiss as it bloodied her upper arm. She recovered enough to viciously slash at an exposed wrist, but the others hurled their nets over her. She shrieked in defiance, trying to cut herself loose before they swarmed her under. But it was too late. One pulled on the net lines and yanked her off her feet while the rest rushed in to knock her blades away and pummel her with their fists and feet.

 

The portcullis opened, and the four remaining handlers dragged her past the waiting Kristoff. He glanced down and saw she was a bruised, bloody mess, but still alive. He smiled; for some strange reason this pleased him. But there was no time to dwell on such odd thoughts; he had his own fight to win. He stepped out onto the arena floor to the sounds of the roaring crowd. He deliberately walked over to the fallen _lorarii_. The one with the slashed wrist had already bled out, to his surprise, while the newly one-eyed handler cursed and stumbled his way back down into the pit. _The little copper-haired one has some fight in her_ , Kristoff grinned. So did he. He adjusted his rectangular _scutum_ and raised his polished _gladius_ in salute. It was time to take another step down his own path, one that someday would lead him away from this bloody pit. One that would lead him back home. But until then, let the games begin.


	2. Uncertainty

The imperial viewing box was wide and airy, and offered an excellent view of the arena. Slaves in modest linen tunics held trays of chilled fruit and goblets of sweet wine for the Emperor and his guests. Only two guests today, and they sat on low padded chairs flanking the lion-footed divan upon which the Emperor Agdarius reclined.

 

General Gaius Hansel Westerguard, commander of the legions of the northlands, lounged indolently to the left of the Emperor. He was without armor, but his toga was cut in the military style, albeit with excessive amounts of gilded flourishes. The Westerguards had a long history of service to the Senate and the Emperor. Many of the House’s sons are placed highly in the military. Some of them even earned their positions. Hans was not one of those; he was named general on his 21st nameday when the previous general, one of his older brothers, fell with a barbarian’s arrow in his neck. How the Northman got close enough to attack a Roman general is a question few survived asking. Even lacking armor, there was an air of something dangerous about the General as he gave a possessive, predatory smile to the pale young woman to the Emperor’s right.

 

Valeria Aelsia Glaciem sat demurely to her father’s right, a fitting place for the _Imperatrix Destinatus_ , or heir to the imperial throne. Her _stola_ was woven of the finest silks, pale blue to match her eyes, embroidered with a geometric snowflake pattern in thread-of-silver and cinched with twin silver belts around her waist and beneath her breasts. Silver chains with matching snowflake medallions were woven into her braided pale blond hair, a rare color for the high blood. She sat stiff-backed and regal as she attended her father.

 

“What is on the day’s agenda?” the elderly Emperor asked.

 

“The Senate demands a larger percentage of the Britannic tribute, Father. They claim it is for improvements to the aqueducts, but I believe they intend the funds to line their own coffers.”

 

“I meant the entertainment, Elsa,” the Emperor chided his eldest daughter. Her icy blue eyes hardened a touch, but she otherwise did not react to her father’s admonishment.

 

“The Barbarian of the Frozen Northlands will take the floor once the lions have been fed, your Imperial Majesty,” General Hans interjected smoothly.

 

“Ah yes! Splendid! I like that one. Your campaigns in the Northlands always provide Rome with grand sport, General,” the Emperor declared. Hans bowed his head in gratitude. He was far too young to have brought back this particular barbarian, but he wasn’t above taking the credit. Elsa leaned over to stare incredulously at him. The General returned her gaze, his green eyes harder than agates. Elsa opened her mouth to protest, but thought better of it and held her tongue.

 

The Emperor looked around, momentarily puzzled. “Where is your sister?”

 

Elsa opened her mouth again to speak, but Hans beat her to it. “The Lady Anatonia Ustrina is touring the Illyrium provinces, sire.” He replied smoothly, his eyes boring into Elsa’s. “I’m sure her heart bleeds to be reunited with her beloved father, but she is doing the Empire a grand service right where she is.”

 

Elsa sat up straighter, gasping quietly at the thinly veiled threats in the General’s honeyed words, but the old man missed them entirely. “That is true, General. Anna’s absence will benefit Rome, but I sorely miss my little _aeris_.” The Emperor sighed. But his melancholy was short-lived. The portcullis raised, and the striking figure of the Barbarian Gladiator of the Frozen Northlands strode proudly onto the arena floor. The Emperor sat up to get a better view and clapped his hands together delightedly. “Splendid! Oh, this will be a grand display indeed!” He leaned over closer to his daughter.” You would do well to consider the General’s suit, my little _nyx_. I have a feeling he is destined for greatness.”

 

Elsa slowly turned her head away from the General’s hated visage, lest her fear slips out of her control and she vomits at his feet. Down on the arena floor, the fighters raised their _gladius_ in salute.

 

“Well then, let the games begin,” Hans grinned.

 

* * *

The _Lorarii_ were none too kind as they dragged their catch back down into the pit by the nets used to contain her. Three of their own, dead. _Three_! And a fourth maimed as well! The shame of it scorched their bones! It will take a lot to remove the stain of their failure, and her death would make an excellent start. She still struggled despite her injuries. They tossed her against the wall like a sack of grain, and she tumbled to the floor, dazed. They spat, and drew their short-bladed _pugiones_.

 

The _Lanista_ , or head of the Gladiator _ludus_ , chose that moment to descend into the pit. He was an impossibly large man, with broad shoulders and a bushy red-orange mustache covering most of his oddly jovial face. “Hold,” He commanded, and the _Lorarii_ backed off reluctantly. The prisoner stopped moving, but he could hear her labored gasps for breath and see hints of steel in her pain-glazed blue eyes. _Rare to see such fire,_ he mused as he gazed down at her. Her fate was uncertain. She was one of the condemned, so somebody wanted her dead. “How many did she slay?” he inquired.

 

“Three,” a dark-bearded _Lorarus_ spat. “and Quintus lost an eye to this _futatrix_!” His _pugio_ was poised and eager to end her, but the _Lanista_ held up his hand. _Three handlers dead, a fourth injured, and who knows how many lions fended off?_ _Intriguing_ , he marveled. This opened up a world of possibilities. _But what to do with her?_ He could give her a quick death and be done with it. Or give her to the upper-class gladiators for sport, which would be a slow death. Or, given the mob’s reaction to her, he could train her. _She obviously has skill_ , the _Lanista_ thought. Gladiatrices were a rare spectacle, and the Emperor’s new favorite Hans seemed to revel in the decadent and exotic. He could gain favor with the General, whose star was obviously rising. _Yes, that is the path to take,_ the _Lanista_ grinned. “Leave her be, I have use for her.”

 

“But--“

 

“Did you not understand my command, _fĭmus_?” the _Lanista_ asked, hints of bared steel in his deceptively mild tone.

 

“Uhhh, no sir!” the chastised _Lorarii_ bowed humbly and scurried out of the room. They still seethed with the desire to wash their shame away with her blood, but directly disobeying the _Lanista_ was beyond foolish. He was a _Rudiarius_ , a former gladiator who earned his freedom, yet chose to remain in the _Familia Gladiatoria_. He would grind them to dust, with his own bare hands if he so chose, if he suspected disobedience. Besides, there were other ways to dispose of the wench. The right words whispered in the right ears, the hint that fresh young meat lay waiting to be claimed, and her blood would drench the floor of the pit in no time. There was work to be done.


	3. No Friends in the Pit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More characters introduced! More plot unfolds! I attempt dialogue!

Kristoff walked back down the ramp, barely winded from his battle with a pair of captured Numidians. They fought well, but he could tell by their eyes that they wanted to die. That was unfortunately common in many prisoners, and Kristoff was more than capable of sending them to their gods with honor.

 

For the spectators, the Gladiatorial Games were a place to be entertained, and a place to gain social prestige.  Even the Emperor himself and his retinue attended today’s spectacle, featuring the fierce Barbarian Gladiator from the Frozen Northlands. He fought as he was supposed to do, with flourish and skill to please the bloodthirsty crowd of citizens and elite. He took pride in his prowess, but felt no joy in the kill. Even after all his years in the arena, the ruthlessness and bloodlust in the hearts of these so-called civilized Romans astonished him. _And they call_ me _the barbarian,_ he scowled. No, he fought not for fame nor glory. He fought to purchase his freedom. _But how much blood will your_ rudis _cost?_ he asked himself. _What makes you any better than them?_

 

When Kristoff descended into the main room of the pit he was surprised to see several of his fellow gladiators arguing and trading blows, all clamoring over a bloody pile of flesh and net and coppery hair in the corner. He paid them no mind as he hung up his _scutum_ and _gladius_ and leaned against the stone wall to clean his _pugio_.

 

Another gladiator walked up and leaned up against the same wall to tend to his own blade. He was a slender, scarred fighter from Aquitania that Kristoff dueled several times in the past. “Good fight today,” he said by way of greeting. Kristoff ignored him. The gladiator wasn’t offended, Kristoff ignored everyone. “Which of these animals do you think will claim the prize, eh?” he asked with a thick accent. “I think the Carthaginian, he may be winning yes?” Kristoff sighed as he used a stone to smooth out a nick in his blade where it had struck bone. He’d been doing that a lot lately. “Unless, of course, you claim her and take her away yourself.”

 

“I don’t take people places,” Kristoff grunted sourly. He sheathed his _pugio_ and folded his arms across his broad chest.

 

“You know what they do to her kind,” the Aquitanian murmured.

 

Yes, he knew exactly what the winner would do with his prize. Kristoff had seen it happen far too often, and he gave up trying to do anything about it a long time ago. But this time… Kristoff uncrossed his arms and calmly walked straight through the melee. The combatants quieted and backed away from the fearsome warrior. He knelt and scooped up the redhead, net and all, tossed her over his shoulder, and walked back through the throng without a backwards glance. Several faces fell with disappointment, but no one dared voice a complaint.

 

Well, not no one. “Unhand me, _bestia_ ,” a pain-filled voice grumbled from the mass of net hanging down his back.

 

“Still with us, I see,” Kristoff murmured, walking down the dimly-lit corridor.

 

“Where are you taking me?”

 

“To see the physician.”

 

She tried her best to ignore the way his voice rumbled through his chest. “I don’t want your help!”

 

“Be calm, little one,” he couldn’t keep the grin out of his voice. “The physician is a friend.”

 

She snorted at that, and then groaned at the pain that little act of defiance sent coursing through her. But little acts were all she had right now, what with being bloodied and bound and draped over the shoulder of this mountain of a man like a lamb on its way to slaughter.

 

Kristoff’s grin fell a bit as he heard her disbelief. She was right to be skeptical; there _were_ no friends in the pit. _No, Sven_ is _a friend,_ he thought firmly. The _Lanista_ ensured that his physicians tended to all of the gladiators of the _ludus_ without fear or favor. And Sven was one of his best.

 

The tall blond had to duck under the low arch marked with the sigil of Vejovis as he entered the infirmary. It was surprisingly empty given it was a game day. Only Sven was present, returning supplies to the well-stocked shelves lining the entire room. “Ah, Kristoff!” Sven greeted his oldest friend. The physician was tall and broad, though not nearly as much as the gladiator. He shared other features in common with the barbarian warrior, though his hair and eyes were the color of deer’s hide. “Brought me a present, have you? I can always use the practice, or so you tell me often enough.”

 

“Aye, we’ll make a seamstress out of you yet,” Kristoff grinned. “This one is in need of your less than gentle care.”

 

“Put me down!” the redhead seethed.

 

“As you wish,” Kristoff replied mildly, dropping her onto the raised table next to the physician. He was not ungentle, but she still grunted crossly.

 

“A live one?” Sven asked, a shaggy eyebrow raised in confusion. “Since when do you bring me live ones?” Kristoff merely shrugged, and Sven narrowed his brown eyes skeptically at the much taller man who was using a small _pugio_ to cut through the tangled mass of netting. “What is he to you?”

 

The netting fell open, and Sven gaped down at its contents. “I mean she,” he deadpanned. “You brought a _girl_?”

 

Kristoff sheathed his _pugio_ with another shrug. “She survived the lions. She took out three _Lorarii_ before they subdued her.”

 

“Four!” She growled indignantly.

 

“Four,” Kristoff conceded with a small smile.

 

Sven stared hard at his friend, trying to pick apart the puzzle laid before him. Yes, Kristoff was an honorable man, but he was still a gladiator and they still had a plan, and a wounded prisoner woman was definitely _not_ part of that plan. Sven sighed. Plan or no plan, she was still wounded and he was still a physician. “Alright, let’s see to you then,” he told her as he stepped closer to tend to her injuries.

 

Quick as lightning she slapped Sven’s hands away and lunged at Kristoff’s waist, coming back with his _pugio_ clutched in her bloody hand. She scrambled back on the table, brandishing the blade at the both of them to keep them at bay.

 

“I hate it when you bring me live ones,” Sven grumbled, rubbing at his stung fingers.

 

“What are you doing?” Kristoff demanded.

 

“S-Stay back!” she hissed, clutching at her wounded side yet the _pugio_ in her outstretched hand was steady.

 

“There’s no need for that,” Kristoff said with exasperation. “This is Sven. He’s a physician, the finest one in the _ludus_. We’re trying to help.”

 

“Why?” She demanded.

 

“Yeah, why?” Sven echoed.

 

“Because…” Kristoff began, but trailed off. _Why_ am _I helping?_ Her blue eyes captured his, that same haunted fury he saw earlier tugging at him.

 

Sven glared at him in exasperation before returning his attention to his patient. “Look,” He began, hands raised palm-forward as if to appease her. “I don’t care who or what you are. You’re injured, I’m a physician. I’m honor-bound to treat everyone that comes through that arch. Please let me help you.”

 

Anna’s eyes remained fixed on Kristoff’s. Her gaze bored into his, searching for signs of malice or deceit. She saw only curiosity, confusion, and amazingly, concern. She felt herself falling into those amber depths. “Please,” he murmured, and her arm trembled at the genuine concern she heard in his voice.

 

She nodded curtly, letting her knife hand fall to the table.

 

““That’s better,” Sven heaved out a gusty sigh, grabbing an earthenware bowl of water and a clean rag. “Now let’s see…” He mumbled to himself as he washed blood from her skin and checked for more serious injuries.

 

Her gaze remained locked with that of the broad-shouldered gladiator. _Why is he doing this?_ she wondered. _Does he recognize me? Is he seeking favor?_ The huge gladiator’s eyes betrayed nothing of his motivations, and his gaze never wavered from hers, though a faint crimson wash stained his cheeks.

 

“You can let go of the blade, you know,” Sven said with amusement. “Wouldn’t want you to accidentally cut someone.” The physician’s hand grazed over the ribs she was clutching, and she hissed in sudden pain. The hand on her ribs lashed out to grab Sven’s toga while the other hand placed the _pugio_ against his exposed throat. Only then did her gaze shift. “Alright! I’m sorry! It wouldn’t be an accident!” Sven screeched.

 

Kristoff wrapped his large fingers around her wrist, gently pulling the _pugio_ away. Sven stumbled back, cursing in a language she had never heard before. Kristoff gave him a sharp look, but spoke to the injured woman instead. “That was uncalled for, little one.”

 

“He hurt me,” she growled.

 

“You are already hurt. He is treating you. There is a difference. It would be dishonorable to injure a physician sworn to assist you, yes?” Anna’s gaze whipped back to him and her eyes burned with renewed fury and… shame? _Ah, so this little one has honor._ Kristoff gently pried her fingers loose and retrieved his blade. “Let us help you,” he said again. “Please?” The redhead was motionless for several moments, then she slumped against the wall with a pained sigh.

 

“ _Gamla lǫmbungr_ ,” Sven groused, again using the strange foreign tongue. “The gods take me, I swear the both of you are idiots!”

 

“Hush, Sven,” Kristoff chided, resheathing his _pugio_. “Remember yourself.”

 

“I’m not the one forgetting things, _heiðnir_ ” he countered. Kristoff shook his head. Sven was not only one of the best physicians, he joined the _ludus_ on the same day as Kristoff. Which made sense, they were captured the same day, from the same village. They were the only ones left from the raid that shattered their home and upended their lives. They were closer than brothers now, their shared experiences in the pit bound them together tighter than blood.

 

Sven tended to the injured woman quickly, and she bore his ministrations without further complaint. Kristoff hoped it was because she finally accepted their help, and perhaps trusted them a little. But in all likelihood she was just exhausted. She didn’t even flinch when Sven stitched the nasty gash over her ribs.

 

The physician was applying a salve to the wounds when the _Lanista_ ducked under the arch and into the infirmary. Kristoff stood respectfully, while Sven continued to tend to his patient. “Kristoff! What brings you to the infirmary? You barely broke a sweat with those two Numidians earlier. Brilliant bout though, lad. The mob left happy and thirsting for more,” the huge man grinned.

 

“Thank you, sir,” Kristoff inclined his head. He may hate the blood and spectacle of the gladiator life, but he respected the _Lanista_. He was an honorable man, for the most part, and he was living proof that freedom for a gladiator was not just a fever dream. “I found this one injured and set upon by the lesser gladiators, so I brought the little _aeris_ here for the physicians to tend to.” Anna jolted out of her stupor and glared murder into Kristoff’s back.

 

“Little _Aeris_!? Perfect!” he boomed. Anna’s death glare shifted to the enormous _Lanista_ , but it had even less effect on him. “You did well, lad. I have plans for this one.”

 

“Plans, sir?”

 

“Plans?” Anna squawked.

 

“Aye, plans! Time to broaden the stable, give the people even more to thirst for. Something General Westerguard or the Emperor himself will sit up and take notice of: a gladiatrix! This little copper-haired spitfire could do it, and I want you to train her.”

 

They both blinked. “Wait, what?”

 

“Think of it, lad! The beauty of Venus and the prowess of Bellona, fighting alongside the Barbarian Gladiator of the Frozen Northlands. We could double the admission price and _still_ fill the stands!” The _Lanista_ almost drooled at the thought. “You will start training her once the physicians clear her for combat. What say you, Little _Aeris_? Will you train and join my _ludus_ as the first gladiatrix in a god’s age?”

 

“Do I have a choice?” Anna seethed.

 

The _Lanista_ cocked his head at her, genuinely puzzled that she would not jump at his most generous offer. “Of course you have a choice. I could always give you back to the _Lorarii_ , or to the lesser gladiators, or to the lions….”

 

Anna grimaced. “I will train,” she said softly.

 

“Splendid!” the _Lanista_ beamed. “Treat her well, physician! I want her up and training by the end of the week.” He turned to leave. “I’ll have the servants prepare a pallet for her in your cell, lad.”

 

Two jaws dropped at that pronouncement. “Wait, _what?!_ ”

 

“You will be training together, ultimately fighting together. You might as well share a cell as well. Start building up that trust bond.” And with that, the _Lanista_ ducked back under the arch and was gone.

 

“Idiots,” Sven chuckled.


	4. The Search

The Lady Valeria Aelsia Glaciem strolled through the imperial gardens with demure grace. Plants from throughout the empire were on display, carefully pruned and trained to produce the most pleasing of foliage, the most fragrant of blossoms. She paused and bent her face to breathe in a particularly lovely oleander, giving it her full attention as if she had no other concern in the world.

 

Anyone foolish enough to believe that deserved the blade that would slide through their ribs.

 

Elsa had trained at her father’s side since she could barely walk, taking in the art of statecraft with her mother’s milk. One lesson she took to heart was that information, not wealth nor martial prowess, was the true lifeblood of an empire. Money and power were just the tools used to shape and guide the empire, and they were most effective when guided by the latest intelligence.

 

“What news?” she inquired softly.

 

“Attempts to delay formal consideration of the General’s suit have had limited success, your Imperial Highness,” the matronly woman standing beside replied just as softly. “Keeping the General away from his Imperial Majesty has proven even less successful,” she smoothed an imperceptible fold in her sober olive stola, vexed at her failures. “Also, no one has seen the Lady Anatonia Ustrina since last night.”

 

“I do not accept that, Gerda. Anna would not just leave without word.” Elsa straightened and moved down the garden path. “You have people searching the City? The surrounding villages?” Her handmaiden nodded as she followed a respectful step behind. “What of this supposed diplomatic mission to the Illyrium provinces?” Elsa asked. “Is it possible that Hans spoke the truth?”

 

“Possible, but not likely,” Gerda reported. “There was an imperial contingent dispatched to the Illyrium provinces yesterday, like the General said. My source reported no signs of the Imperial Lady’s royal presence, nor anyone who matched her description.”

 

Elsa’s lips twitched with a small smile. Of course Gerda would search for both obvious and subtle signs. She was as cunning as she was meticulous. That is why Gerda was the central hub of Elsa’s network of informants.

 

“Two other contingents departed the eternal city two days ago, one bound for Mauritania and the other for Cappadocia.”

 

“Those are on opposite ends of the Empire! Do you believe Anna is with one of them?”

 

“I highly doubt it, your Imperial Highness,” Gerda replied.

 

“I as well, but we cannot afford risk assumption. Notify the sources. I want both contingents searched immediately. Discreetly, Gerda.”

 

“Of course, your Imperial Highness.” Gerda smiled softly, bowing her head.

 

Elsa paused to study a strange orange and purple flower, with sharp petals that made it look like a bird in flight. “We are missing something, Gerda.”

 

“I feel the same way, so I questioned the servants again,” Gerda grimaced. “Two disturbing items came to light.”

 

Elsa lifted her face to the strange blossom, cloaking her nod to proceed.

 

Gerda’s mouth twisted as if she had bit into a particularly sour pear. “The first is I fear the palace is starting to fill with servants whose loyalty is not to your father. The second is that one of the chamber slaves saw General Hans’ _praefectus fabrum_ stalking the halls much later than is his usual last night.”

 

Both pieces of news were indeed disturbing. _His Aide de Camp? Why was the General’s weasel out so late?_ As if thinking of him summoned him, the scrawny man with a bushy gray mustache turned the corner, along with the General himself. Years of training kept Elsa calm and composed, when she really yearned to claw the _mentula’s_ eyes out. “Elsa, Your Imperial Highness,” Hans bowed with a flourish of his crimson cape. “Glad I caught you,” he smirked.

 

Elsa turned and clasped her hands at her silver-belted waist. Gerda stepped forward and nodded her head in the briefest of bows. “The Lady Valeria Aelsia Glaciem is enjoying the solitude of the Imperial gardens prior to her audience with the governor of Dacia,” Gerda said primly.

 

Hans’ eyes narrowed menacingly at both the veiled insult of Elsa refusing to speak to him directly and the implied dismissal in the serving wench’s words. His right hand clenched the hilt of his sheathed _gladius_ , and Weselton acted on his master’s unvoiced orders. He stepped forward and bowed to the stout handmaiden, then took her elbow and guided her towards a pond filled with water lilies, chatting loudly to distract her.

 

Hans smiled smugly, pleased that his plan worked. “I’m not surprised you seek a moment’s breath before attending to the governor of Dacia. He is a pompous toad.”

 

_He is a loyal and trusted servant of the Empire, you silly asinus!_ She thought, though her face betrayed nothing of her true feelings. “The blossoms are exquisite this time of year,” Elsa murmured, plucking a long-stemmed rose from a nearby bush and inhaling its sweet scent.

 

“Yet they pale when compared to your beauty.”

 

Elsa’s eyes slanted at him in contempt, and then she closed them and brought the bloom back up to her face.

 

“Have you given more thought to my proposal?” Hans asked smoothly.

 

“Some.”

 

“Only some?”

 

“Attending my father is the priority of both my hours and my thoughts. This does not leave much time to give your proposal the consideration it merits,” Elsa replied, though her attention seemed wholly focused on the white flower in her hand. “Decisions that impact my family to this degree must be pondered with care.”

 

“I’m pleased to know you feel my proposal has merit,” Hans said impudently, ghosting his hand up Elsa’s arm to the blossom in her hand. His smile deepened when he felt the involuntary tremble his touch sent through her arm. “But do not dwell overlong, my pet. Many things in this world are like this rose,” he tapped the bloom with his forefinger, then plucked a petal loose and let it flutter to the gravel path at their feet. “They are only beautiful when untouched by adversity.” Another petal plucked and dropped. “Only viable for the briefest of moments.” And another. Hans leaned down and reached behind Elsa, close enough that his breath curled around her exposed neck. She shuddered again.

 

Hans straightened and showed her what he had grabbed: a rose as coppery red as her sister’s hair. Elsa’s eyes widened as Hans turned the new flower in his hands, contemplating it, then making a grand show of savoring its scent before his emerald eyes bored into her sapphire ones. “There are other roses on the vine. One might say they are like family, supporting each other… protecting each other… shielding each other from the touch of adversity.” Hans wrapped his fist around the bloom and deliberately crushed it. It fell limply from his hand. “It would be unfortunate if the vine lost one of its exquisite and beloved flowers.”

 

Elsa inhaled sharply as she took a small step back. “You would dare?”

 

“Make the time to consider my proposal.” Hans smiled coldly. “As you can see, a great deal depends on your decision and how quickly you reach it.” He bowed his head fractionally, then turned and strode away with his weasel scampering behind him.

 

Gerda rushed up to her mistress, apologizing for letting the general outmaneuver her. Elsa waved off her apology. “We must find my sister quickly, Gerda,” Elsa said, her voice hoarse. She stared intently at the ruined red rose at her feet. A scant few petals clung precariously to the bloom, unwilling to give up. “We do not have much time.”

 

* * *

“My orders were clear!” Hans snapped at the cowering chamber slave he just casually backhanded across the face. “ _Thracian_ olive oil! Not this camel piss from Alexandria!” The young man wiped blood from his long bulbous nose and scurried over to collect the offending flask from the table, clutching it to his chest with spindly arms.

 

“You’re lucky my taste doesn’t tend towards boys. Now get out of my sight! Another gross blunder like this and I will feed you to the buggerers of the 15th Legion!” The young slave all but groveled before he bolted from the chamber. He passed the General’s _praefectus fabrum_ on his way out, but the man paid the slave no mind as strode further into the chamber and saluted his master, fist to chest.

 

Hans poured blood red wine into a golden cup and savored a long sip before acknowledging his underling. “Report,” he ordered curtly.

 

“The flame has been extinguished, my Lord,” the whip-slender man replied.

 

“Excellent,” Hans smiled into his wine. “Things are moving along smoothly. Did you complete your other task?”

 

“I had to slit a few throats, but it is done.”

 

“Good. My plans should move much quicker now that our people are in place. Once the other wench is brought to heel, I’ll dispense with the old man.” Hans’ smile grew positively vicious.

 

Neither man noticed the abused chamber slave listening outside the chamber door.

 

* * *

Sven was writing in a wood-bound book, the scratch of the eagle feather quill on the linen pages echoing in the silent infirmary. Silent because Kristoff and the girl were seated opposite each other, eating barley and dried fish from clay bowls and glaring at one another. After the _Lanista_ departed, four _lorarii_ entered on his heels and quickly shackled the girl’s ankles and wrists. Anna stared down at her bound limbs in disbelief. The chain connecting the shackles was long enough to let her walk, but would severely limit her ability to run.

 

Kristoff stood up quickly. “What are you doing?” he coldly demanded.

 

“We were told to bind the new _novicius_ in the infirmary. Neither you nor the physician are _novicii_ , so it must be the woman,” the _lorarus_ explained, having to crane his neck to look up at the towering gladiator.

 

“She is under my care and instruction,” Kristoff grated.

 

“Apologies, gladiator. We are merely following orders. Tradition dictates that all new _novicii_ are bound until they achieve their _tiro_.”

 

He glared at them. They appeared to be as placid as milkwater, but Kristoff could see the barely contained satisfaction that came from binding the redhead’s limbs and stating practices Kristoff knew all too well. He shook his head slightly in disgust, then turned his back on them. They quickly departed, with only Sven observing their wide, sickening smiles.

 

“When can she begin training?”

 

“The day after tomorrow, most likely,” Sven replied. He set his quill down and walked to a shelf on the far side of the room and pulled out a sack and several earthenware pots. “Rest and a double ration of honey and olive oil should have her on her feet in no time. Apply this salve on her stitches three times a day to ward off the blood sickness.” Sven gave the supplies to the larger man. He leaned in close and whispered to his oldest friend, “Do you know what you’re doing? Can our plan afford this?”

 

“No,” Kristoff said simply.

 

“But we’re doing it anyway,” Sven said flatly. Kristoff just shrugged. Sven canted his head to the side and smiled. “Of course we are.”

 

The chains rattled softly as Anna got to her feet. She shot the two men angry looks, marred by a failed attempt to hold back a yawn. Kristoff ducked under the arch, and Anna had little choice but to follow.

 

Anna’s mind was too numb with exhaustion to follow the numerous twists and turns through the labyrinthine pit, but it wasn’t long until she found herself standing before a tiny room with a wooden door. Kristoff opened the door and walked in, paying Anna little mind as he removed his harness and hung it on a peg near the door. Light streamed in from a barred window set high on the wall. Two pallets of piled straw and coarsely-woven wool blankets were crammed side-by-side in the narrow cell, with barely room to stand sideways between them. Her brain refused her muddled attempts to wrap it around what she saw, so she turned to the tall blond. She held her manacled wrists up to him expectantly.

 

He stared down at her. “I’m inclined to leave them on,” he said.

 

“Wait, what? Why!?”

 

“I don’t trust your judgment.”

 

“Ex _cuse_ me?!” she exclaimed indignantly.

 

“Who pulls a _pugio_ on the only people trying to help her?”

 

She gaped at him, at a complete loss for words. She tilted her head back with a groan and rolled her eyes, giving up. She squeezed by him and plopped face down on the larger of the two pallets. “That one’s mine,” he grumbled crossly. She mumbled something vaguely insulting into the blankets and did not move. She heard him sigh, then felt him lift her by the waist and plop her face-down on the other pallet. She’s ashamed to admit she squeaked at that, but was too damn tired to put up more of a fight. She was almost asleep when she felt warm, calloused hands on her wrists and ankles, removing the chains that bound them. She curled up onto her side, smiling softly, and let sleep claim her.


	5. Training

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> note: i never studied Latin, so i blame the interwebz for the very bad things I’m doing to it. Google Translate says Aeris means copper, so that’s why i’m using it.

Two days pass, and Kristoff sat with his new _novicius_ at a small rough-hewn table against the wall of the common room, both eating heartily from clay bowls. “We’ll go see Sven when we’re done. Once he clears you, we’ll begin training.” Anna ignored him, her attention focused on shoveling as much of the cut oats and honey into her mouth as quickly as possible. _Novicii_ were typically forbidden from speaking at mealtimes, but they were far enough away from the others that her unusual adherence to the rules couldn’t be anything but provocative. Kristoff tapped her forehead with a thick finger, and she straightened indignantly. “Listening, little Aeris?”

 

She glared at him, and deliberately crammed another spoonful into her mouth without answering. Kristoff frowned at her, but carried on. “We’ll start with basic conditioning, then move on to weapons. The _gladius_ is a good place to start.”

 

“I prefer _siccae_ ,” she mumbled around a mouthful of fig.

 

“I can see why, judging by the quick work you made of those three _lorari_ ,” Kristoff murmured.

 

She grinned at him, taking the compliment whether he meant it or not. “Four,” she corrected impudently.

 

“Four,” Kristoff grinned back. Two _lorari_ walked a little too near their table for his liking, so he glared impassively at them until they wisely backed off. Satisfied, he took another bite then asked, “What is your name?”

 

Her face slipped back behind her careful blank mask. “Why do you ask?”

 

“I need to call you something,” he explained as he picked up his cup of water. “We’re supposed to be partners, and ‘hey you’ seems a bit absurd.”

 

Anna chewed thoughtfully. “You can call me what you’ve already been calling me,” she said softly, almost wistfully. That haunted look ghosted across her eyes, and he couldn’t stop himself from wondering why.

 

“Little Aeris?”

 

“You can skip the ‘little.’”

 

“You _are_ little,” he smiled.

 

“Everyone is little compared to you,” she pointed out with a crooked grin. “Are the rest of your people so very tall as well?”

 

His smile fell. “I don’t know,” he said simply. Anna looked down at her bowl, biting her lip contritely. He finished his water and set the cup down on the table. “Come, let’s go see Sven.”

 

The pushed their empty bowls back, stood, and headed towards the infirmary.

 

* * *

 

Sven checked her wounds, and after applying a fresh coating of salve to the healing gash on her ribs gave her the go-ahead to begin training. His actual words were that they were free to go at each other. Kristoff shot him a dark look, which he parried with one full of so much false innocence Anna couldn’t help but giggle. Sven shoved them both out the arched door of the infirmary with strict orders not to have too much fun.

 

True to his word, Kristoff spent the first few weeks building up her physical condition. He made her stretch. He made her climb. He made her jump. Aside from rubbing at her healing bruises, she was in excellent shape. Not surprising for someone born and raised on a farm, she said. He somewhat doubted that. Her freckled skin was far too pale for someone who worked outside all day. She pointed out crossly that she usually had more clothes covering her. Then she laughed when he blushed as red as her hair.

 

He made her pick heavy things up and put them down again. She was very vocal about her dislike of that one. One time she picked up a round stone that needed both of her hands to lift, spun around to gain momentum, and threw it at him. He caught it without even stumbling, and looked at her with a raised eyebrow. She gaped at him, then got that muley look he was growing fond of and bent to pick up an even heavier stone, then lifted and put it back down like he taught her.

 

He made her run. A lot. Mostly to keep her quiet. She talked almost non-stop when it was just the two of them training, yet most of it was empty comments about the weather or other nonsense, or a stream of observations about the surroundings or the training. _How could someone make so much noise yet say so little?_ He learned quickly that she was fiercely competitive, and chasing after his long-limbed strides kept her focused and blessedly silent. Training around other gladiators, or worse, _lorarii_ , also brought an end to her chatter. He would look at her blank mask of a face and see anger bleed out her sky blue eyes, anger that echoed his own, and he found that he actually missed her words.

 

* * *

 

“It’s been weeks with no news,” Emperor Agdarius groused. “I really wish my little _Aeris_ would write. I miss her words.”

 

“I as well, Papa,” Elsa sighed.

 

“The Illyrium provinces aren’t that far. Several runners could’ve been here and back by now.”

 

Elsa shifted, choosing her next words carefully, “Do you think she may not be with the Illyrium embassy, Papa?”

 

The old Emperor shook his head, “No, she is there. Gaius Hansel said so, and he loves our family and the Empire more than his own life.”

 

“Told you that, did he?” Elsa muttered.

 

“Yes, my daughter. He attends me regularly to discuss strategy, among other things.” He took Elsa’s cool, slim hand in his wizened one. “I won’t be around forever, little _Nyx_. I worry for your future and the future of the Empire. Accepting the General’s proposal would put my mind at ease on both fronts.”

 

Elsa gripped her father’s frail hand. “Let’s wait for Anatonia’s return, Papa. This decision affects her too.”

 

The Emperor nodded vaguely, his fingers fretting with the copper medallions adorning his toga.

 

* * *

 

“Sven says you’re good as new now, and you’re in excellent condition. We can begin weapons training today.”

 

The tall gladiator and his short _novicius_ walked side by side on their way out to the training field. “What language does he use when he mumbles to himself?” she asked.

 

“Probably the language of his people. Not everyone was born in Rome, you know.”

 

“I know that,” she groused. “I just want to know what he’s saying, especially when he looks at the both of us.”

 

Kristoff rubbed the back of his neck, blushing slightly. “Umm, probably calling us idiots, or something about your wounds, I guess.”

 

“Wait, you understand him?” she perked up. “Tell me! What’s he… saying…” she trailed off and stopped dead in front of a grisly sight. Two men were hanging from crossed beams driven into the dirt, their arms and legs bound to the wood with narrow lengths of jute rope that cut into their skin deep enough to leave bloody trails weeping down their naked forms. Ravens sat patiently on the beams while clouds of flies swarmed around the bodies.

 

She looked up at Kristoff, her eyes wide. “Runaways,” he said, his face carefully impassive.

 

She swallowed against the bile rising in her throat. The life of a gladiator for many was a protracted death sentence. It was common for criminals of certain skill to be _ad ludum gladiatorium,_ or condemned to death in the games. Prisoners of war were often considered condemned as well, with a noble death on the arena floor the only way to regain the honor lost by being captured. But many did not wish to finish their days at the end of a gladius for the amusement of the mob, so they ran. Captured runaways were not treated well. Most were crucified as a warning to the rest. The lucky ones were beaten first, do death would claim them more quickly.

 

These two poor wretches were not among the lucky ones.

 

“Did you know them?” she inquired, her voice small.

 

He stared up at the men. “I knew them,” he sighed. One of the ravens had run out of patience and pecked at the eyes of one of the men. Anna jumped when the man shook his head feebly, vainly trying to fend off the birds. Kristoff continued walking towards the training field. Shuddering slightly, she turned as well and followed him, leaving the scavengers to their feast.

 

* * *

 

Elsa and her handmaiden sat outside the imperial audience chamber, waiting to attend the Emperor. “What news, Gerda?”

 

“Our eyes and ears in the Mauritanian and Cappadocian embassies report no sign of your sister, my Lady,” the handmaiden reported grimly. “And our source near the General overheard several conversations involving unusual local redeployments of his people.”

 

Before Elsa could ask for more details, the chamber doors opened and Hans strode out. Gerda hissed, giving vent to her frustration at not being able to keep the General away from the Emperor. His gaze fell on Elsa, and while the bow he gave her was the epitome of courtly honor, he leered like a hunter spotting his cornered prey.

 

Elsa glared murder at his retreating back. “Search his legions and his estates. He must have her under his thumb, which means she is close. Someone _must_ know something. Find that someone, Gerda. Quickly.”

 

The stout woman nodded her assent.

 

* * *

 

“You really should learn the _gladius_ ,” Kristoff said one day a week later as they walked back from the water barrel near the weapons rack.

 

“I prefer _siccae_ ,” she said in an almost sing-song tone, since she said it frequently.

 

“Aye, you have the speed and the mobility to put them to good use,” he concedes. “How did a farm girl learn to use _siccae_ so well?”

 

She dipped her head, blushing slightly. “They’re not much different from the tools we use to harvest crops.”

 

“Crops fight back on your farm?”

 

She stuck her tongue out at him. “No. One of the guar—gardeners used to be in the Legions. He taught me a little.”

 

“More than a little, I’d say.” She blushed even more at that. “But you’re so short almost anyone beats your reach. You have to get into their kill range to even nick them with your pig-stickers.”

 

“Pig-stickers?!” she protested, looking down at her paired wooden practice _siccae_.

 

“Take a swipe at me,” he ordered.

 

She shrugged and slashed at his flank. He barely had to step back to avoid it. “See?”

 

Non-plussed, she attacked again, slashing at his neck and ribs. He nimbly dodged each attack with a grin. He placed his right hand on her forehead as she flailed at him, her dummy blades whistled through the air a good handspan away from his ribs. He pushed her away as he stepped back. “See?” he smirked.

 

She crouched, growled low in her throat, and launched an all-out assault. She danced around him, lashing out with wooden blades as well as her elbows, knees, and bare feet. He dodged what he could, parried her kicks with his shins, and blocked a vicious volley of downward slashes with his _manica_ -protected right arm. He deftly sidestepped a lunge at his gut, grabbed her outstretched arm, turned and flung her over his shoulder and drove her back-first into the ground with a thud. Her eyes glazed, momentarily stunned, then came back into focus to find him kneeling over her, her arms pinned above her head and his heavy elbow slanted across her neck. “See?” he breathed into her ear.

 

She writhed under him, drawing his eyes up to her captured hands. Then she pulled her legs up and shoved him off of her with a fierce two-footed kick straight into his gut. He stumbled back as she sprang back to her feet, but he was in a defensive crouch before she could set her own stance. “You never give up,” he observed, panting with exertion. It wasn’t a question.

 

“No,” she replied, breaking her stance. “And I learn from my mistakes.” She walked by him as he broke his own stance, rubbing at his abdomen. His eyes watched her curiously as she made her way to the equipment rack and pulled out a small wooden _scutum_ and a short-bladed wooden _gladius_ not much longer than her _siccae_.

 

Kristoff nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips.

 

* * *

 

“H-he keeps hitting me, mistress!” the young chamber slave sobbed. “The General, he k-keeps yelling and hitting and telling me what other bad things he’s going to do to me. Bad things…”

 

Gerda wrapped the lad up in a warm hug, rocking him gently and silently cursing the sadistic general for at least the tenth time that day. “Do you want me to reassign you away from him?”

 

The young man sniffled, wiping at his nose with his thin-fingered hand. “N-no. I-I-I want to help the Lady Valeria Aelsia and the Lady Anatonia,” he whimpered, swallowing the lump in his throat. “The General may be more dangerous than a forge fire, but some people are worth melting for.”

 

“That’s my brave boy,” Gerda murmured to him. “Now, here’s what I want you to do…”

 

* * *

 

Kristoff and Anna walked wearily down the ramp from the arena floor at the end of her fourth week of training, both holding small round _scuta_ and wooden _rudii_ , or practice swords. The pit was full of rowdy, dark-eyed gladiators, and the energy of the room made her itch and set her teeth on edge. The men paced the floor like caged lions, looking to the closed double doors on the far side of the room with unblinking eyes as if waiting for a fresh meal to walk through them. She and Kristoff walked around to the back to turn in their equipment, then leaned against the back wall to wait.

 

She opened her mouth to ask what was going on, but the double-doors opposite of them opened up and dozens of kitchen slaves were herded into the pit. Anna pressed herself farther back against the wall as the men rose up and hungrily crashed down upon the herd. Anna couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing. Some of the gladiators grabbed women by the wrists and hauled them out the side doors. Some grabbed scullery boys and headed for the doors. Others scooped women into their arms or over their shoulders and all but ran out of the room. A few of the women did the grabbing and hauling, giggling and smiling with dark eyes. One pair didn’t even wait to leave before tearing at each other’s clothing. Anna looked up at Kristoff, who observed the spectacle before them impassively, arms folded across his broad chest.

 

Disturbed more than she cared to admit, Anna attempted to ease her disquiet by bantering with her tall trainer. “Aren’t you going to take one?” she half-joked.

 

“No.”

 

“Why, prefer the boys?”

 

“I prefer to avoid distractions and focus on staying alive,” he said grimly.

 

Anna glanced back to the few remaining women and young men. Most looked relieved, others looked disappointed. “Agreed,” she said, just as grimly.

 

Without another word, both retrieved their equipment and went back out to train.

 

* * *

 

“I don’t recognize you,” the Emperor said to the servant bowing to him with a goblet of wine on a mosaic-tiled tray.

 

“Yes, your Imperial Majesty,” the young man bowed again. “I was brought in by the Westerguard house after your previous cup-bearer fell ill. It’s an honor to serve you, your Imperial Majesty.”

 

The Emperor shrugged and took the proffered goblet and drank deeply.

 

Hans smiled smugly. Elsa frowned worriedly.

 

* * *

 

“I swear you’re the biggest person I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen lots of people,” Anna remarked one evening as she and Kristoff shrugged out of their harnesses and prepared for sleep.

 

“On your farm,” he deadpanned.

 

“Yes, on my farm. Lots of laborers work the fields, you know. Grapes don’t grown themselves or turn themselves into wine, you know.”

 

“If you say so, Aeris,” he murmured, unclasping his _manica_ before removing it as well. “What about the _Lanista_? He’s bigger than I am.”

 

“Not by much. I mean, look at this!” she swiped the _manica_ off of the floor before he could grab it, plopped down on his pallet, and proceeded to put it on in a most unconventional manner. “I can fit my entire leg into this thing!”

 

He froze, half-crouched, as she wriggled her toes at him from barely past the wrist guard. He tried not to stare at how she had the shoulder plate drawn up nearly to her slender waist, or how the hem of what was left of her brief _stola_ rode up her freckle-dusted thighs. “Must you?” he asked, his suddenly dry throat making his voice crack in what he hoped she would take as exasperation.

 

She crossed her arms beneath her breasts and raised a hand to tap at her full bottom lip, making a grand show of giving great thought to his pained question. “Now that you mention it… Yes, I believe I actually must,” she replied impudently.

 

He rolled his eyes, and she giggled softly. He tried not to stare as she removed the _manica_ and handed it back to him. Tried, but failed. _How can someone so short have such long legs?_ “You should get some rest. You test for your _tiro_ in the morning,” he said gruffly, turning to hang the _manica_ up with his harness. He turned back and sighed in mock annoyance, not at all surprised to see her sprawled out on his pallet again. It was a game to her, he supposed, and one that at first he found frustrating and rudely defiant. But as he picked her up and plopped her down on her own pallet, he now found it somewhat endearing.

He blew out the tallow candle and spread himself out on his own pallet, arms tucked behind his head. He could hear her softly snoring a mere arm’s reach away. He could still feel the warmth of her on his hands after her moved her. He could still see her lithe leg in his _manica_.

 

Sleep was a long time in coming.


	6. Scars

It had been a very good day, for Anna and several other _novicii_ were now _Tirones_ , deemed worthy and ready to battle in the arena. “You should be proud, little Aeris. You earned your _tiro_ in little over a month. The others took closer to six,” Kristoff beamed.

 

“Probably because of my incredible skills, yes?” she smirked.

 

“Or maybe your trainer whipping your butt into shape?”

 

She canted her head, grinning impudently. “Naaah!” she laughed, but her smile softened in gratitude. He smiled back, genuinely proud of her.

 

* * *

They had already participated in three group battles; spectacles designed to showcase skill more than slaughter. Anna wore a Hoplite-style helmet while battling, but little else to disguise the fact that she was female. The _Lanista_ knew the sight of a warrior woman would immediately generate interest, and he was not disappointed. Word spread quickly, and paying citizens flocked to the arena to see such an exotic sight.

 

The stands were thronged with spectators the day she was formally introduced. The _Lanista_ wanted her bare-faced to highlight her gender, but she refused. He made her wear her hair in two long plaits instead of wrapped around her skull and hidden by her helmet, and she balked at that as well but relented when she learned they were battling animals that day, not men who could use her braids as handholds. She stood at one end of the arena along with Kristoff, the Aquitanian gladiator, and stout gladiator from Baetica while the _Lanista_ bellowed out their names and the spectacle of the day, and the crowd roared in excitement.

 

He called her the Gladiatrix of Gallia, and her lips quirked in an odd smile at that. _That explains this torc he’s making me wear._ But her smile quickly soured when the _Lanista_ dedicated the bout to General Gaius Hansel Westerguard and his generous patronage. The General himself stood in the Imperial Box to graciously accept the dedication while the crowd roared their appreciation and approval. She gripped her short-bladed _gladius_ in her white-knuckled fist and nearly vibrated with fury and hatred. “Steady,” Kristoff murmured to her, and she struggled to calm herself. He looked as if he wanted to ask her more, but then four large brown bears were forced into the arena by whip-wielding _Lorarii_ , and the battle began.

 

The mob roared and cheered as she fought, delighting in the sheer decadence of a female gladiator. She didn’t particularly care for battling an animal, but she had little choice. Her match took the longest, because she was more focused on working her way to the opposite side of the arena to get a better look at the General and the Imperial box than on the shaggy bear following her.  The poor beast was half-starved and fought viciously for what it saw as a meal. It lunged at her with a massive paw, and she deftly leapt away, twisting in mid-air to get a quick glimpse inside the Imperial box. She saw the General and two servants, but no one else.

 

The bear reared up on two legs and swiped at her again, claws keen despite its mistreatment, but she ducked under its paws and slashed her gladius across its exposed belly. The redhead stepped back as the beast dropped back onto all fours and bellowed in pain. She rushed in and jumped on the beast’s back, cutting the bear’s shaggy neck, bathing her right arm in bright blood. The bear collapsed to the ground with a gurgling sigh. Anna stood and raised her bloody swordarm in salute. The other three gladiators were nowhere near as bloody, but they too raised their weapons and the mob shrieked its applause. Several chants echoed from the stands. Some cried out for the gladiators, others for her in particular, but most were chanting _Westerguard! Westerguard! Westerguard!!_ The three male gladiators were grimly impassive, the paragons of strength and stoicism that gladiators were expected and supposed to be. Anna was a bloody mess who wanted to spit fire.

 

She was too far away and too wrapped up in her own anger to notice the General freezing stock-still, then turning to stalk out of the Imperial Box.

 

* * *

“You told me she was _dead_!” Hans bellowed at his _praefectus fabrum_.

 

“I-I left strict orders that she was to be fed to the lions, my Lord! _Nobody_ survives that!” the smaller man appeased, trying his best not to cower before his master’s wrath.

 

“Well, obviously the lions share your gift of failure,” Hans snarled. “Fix this, Weselton. _Now_!”

 

“Is that wise, General?” the shorter man dared to inquire. “The mob now loves you for ‘providing’ such a rich spectacle. It would be a waste not to use her to boost the people’s love of you.

 

The general paused to consider his words. “It’s risky. Almost too risky. I may be able to salvage this, but I’ll need to speed up my plans. In the meantime, come up with a way to eliminate her quietly, Weselton. And quickly, or we’ll see if the lions prefer older game.”

 

Weselton swallowed hard, saluted, and hurried out of the room.

 

* * *

“My lady!” Gerda bowed breathlessly to her mistress. “I don’t know how he did it, but the General is in private audience with his Imperial Majesty.”

 

Elsa’s eyes hardened, and she swallowed the chill of fear that churned in her heart. She rose and hurried to her father’s audience chamber. She stopped outside to compose herself, nodding to allow Gerda to enter and announce her.

 

“Ah, my little _nyx_! So good of you to join us!” Emperor Agdarius said gaily as he grabbed a goblet of wine from the tray his new cup-bearer offered to him. “I was just about to send for you.”

 

She walked regally into the audience chamber, her face cool and impassive despite the sight of the general lounging to her father’s right, in _her_ place, looking like a cat let loose in the creamery. She ignored him and bowed to the Emperor. “Of course, father. You wish to discuss the news the governor of Dacia brought us, about the Ostrogoths raiding our northern frontier?” Hans’ smile fell a bit, the northern frontier was _his_ duty after all, and her words stung his pride.

 

“No no, nothing that trivial,” he waved his hand as if shooing away a fly, his eyes a bit too bright.

 

Elsa frowned at that. “Have you heard from the Illyrium embassy?” she asked, not needing to feign the hopefulness creeping into her voice.

 

The Emperor’s face fell, and his eyes gained some of their clarity in his sadness. He took a sip of his wine, then shook his head and regained his vague smile. “No, daughter. I’ve decided not to wait on Anatonia. It is past time to decide on the general’s proposal.”

 

“I am humbled to have earned your consideration, your Imperial Majesty,” Hans murmured.

 

Shocked, Elsa drew herself up to her full height, glaring coldly at Hans and his false modesty. “Is this wise, father? The Westerguards have _served_ our family for generations. What advantage is there to alter such a prosperous arrangement?”

 

“Joining our family to the Westerguards secures the loyalty of the Legions they command, my daughter. Their military might bolsters your position as my heir”

 

“My position as _Imperatrix Destinatus_ is secure _without_ him,” Elsa said, swallowing the scorn rising in her throat like bile. “The Legions are loyal to the throne, father, not to the individual families leading them!”

 

“But they will be loyal to _you_ if you are wed to one of their leaders.”

 

“I and my family only want what is best for Rome and for the Imperial Family that leads it,” Hans said, bowing his head demurely. “The lives and futures of our families depend on us to make the right decisions.”

 

Elsa froze, glaring cold hatred at the manipulative snake resting at her father’s feet. She looked to her father, pleading with her eyes for him to see the truth. But the old man merely smiled encouragingly at her. “It is my desire that you accept the general as your consort. I leave the choice to you, my daughter. But please, consider the Empire’s best interests above everything else.”

 

She felt her icy mask crackle about her under the General’s menacing glare. She saw the promise of death in his eyes. _Oh Papa, if I consider the Empire’s best interests and turn down this monster, he’ll murder Anna for sure! I can’t let that happen, I just can’t!_

 

So she turned and bowed her head. “It will be as my father wishes,” she conceded.

 

* * *

“It will be done?”

 

“We would do it without your generous contribution, my weasely friend. But for this we shall do it very quickly and _very_ painfully.” The washleather purse jingled as it bounced in the hands of the head _lorarus_.

 

* * *

They sat at what she considered their table in the common room, eating a feast of a stew filled with chunks of lamb and root vegetables. And a feast it was, for the highlight of tomorrow’s spectacle would be Kristoff and Anna pairing up to do battle with a trio of captured Ostrogoths. So they ate heartily and ignored the other gladiators in the room who tried to squeeze every drop of enjoyment out of this _coena libera_ they could. Last meals were like that.

 

She glanced over his shoulder and frowned. He turned to see what caught her eye and spotted two _lorari_ walking towards them, looking far too casual to be normal. His brow furrowed, which was usually enough to send them scurrying away, but they just smiled at him. With their attention caught, neither saw the third _lorarus_ as he crept up from behind, grabbed Anna by the hair, and drove her head into the table. Her blood sprayed out as he yanked her head back to expose her throat, and he drew his _pugio_.

 

Kristoff lunged at the _lorarus_ with a roar and tackled him before he could slit her throat. Kristoff grabbed the attacker’s wrist, pounding his knife hand onto the stone floor repeatedly until the blade skittered away. Without breaking rhythm Kristoff drove his fist into the _lorarus’_ face, using only three blows to shatter the man’s nose up into his brain, killing him instantly.

 

The noise of the bloody melee did not go unnoticed. Other gladiators jumped up to watch the fight unfold. Anna stumbled back, disoriented, trying to keep the wall behind her and the fight in front of her. She wiped at the blood pouring into her eyes, and wobbled on legs that wouldn’t obey her commands. Kristoff stood in front of her, shielding her from the two remaining _lorari_ who circled wide, trying to get around the snarling mountain of a man keeping them away from their prey. One thrust his gladius at Kristoff’s ribs, and the gladiator deftly sidestepped and grabbed the man’s sword arm, twisting it while viciously driving him face-first into the stone floor, breaking his nose and several teeth and nearly ripping his arm out of its socket.

 

The other _lorari_ took advantage of Kristoff’s distraction, darted around him and rushed at the dazed woman who lurched left to avoid him. He swiped at her eyes with his short-bladed _pugio_ , trying to take advantage of her impaired vision, but Anna ducked and lunged forward, driving her fist into his face. But her head wound robbed her of her usual deadly grace, and her blow merely bloodied his nose. The _lorarus_ reared back to deliver a massive downward killing blow, but was plucked up into the air by the massive _Lanista_. “What are you doing?!” the giant of a man yelled at the underling dangling from his grip.

 

“ _Futue te ipsi, choeros stulta_!!” the _lorarus_ shrieked.

 

“ _What_ did you _call_ me?” the _Lanista_ asked in a deathly quiet whisper. The man looked at his master, the blood draining from his face at what he saw in the eyes of the massive _Rudiarius_. He turned and threw the _lorarus_ without even straining a muscle, sending the man flying into the far wall, where he crashed with a sickening wet crunch, then slid bonelessly to the floor, leaving a bloody trail down the stones. The _lorarus_ twitched a bit, but otherwise didn’t move, his neck clearly broken.

 

Kristoff stood, ignoring the pathetic whimpers of the lone surviving _lorarus_ as he strode over to check on Anna. The blood spilling into her eyes blinded her, and she initially lashed out to fend him off, but she soon recognized his deep, quiet voice and his warm, calloused hands and stopped fighting. He tore a strip off the edge of his tunic and helped clear her eyes.

 

The _Lanista_ straightened, towering over everyone in the room. The other gladiators wisely bowed submissively and stepped back. “Get those two piles of _merda_ out of my sight,” he growled as he pointed to the two dead men bleeding out onto the stone floor. “And bind that traitor’s arm and throw him in a cell. I’ll deal with him later.”

 

The gladiators saluted, fists to hearts, and quickly obeyed his orders. Two dragged the injured man away by his ankles, paying no mind to his squealing sobs of agony. The others gathered up what was left of the deceased and headed for the lion’s den. The _Lanista_ nodded in approval, then turned to his prime gladiator and his up-and-coming star. “Get her to the infirmary,” he commanded. “Make sure she’s tended to. I want her fighting in tomorrow’s games.”

 

Kristoff started to protest, but Anna nodded and walked straight-backed out of the room, giving Kristoff little choice but to follow after her. She swayed a bit, and would’ve crashed into the wall had Kristoff not caught her. He glanced down at her worriedly. “I hate head wounds,” she grumbled. She shoved off him, shrugging off his unspoken help. She wobbled, but kept her feet under her.

 

“You make a habit of getting hit in the head?” Kristoff asked, amusement battling with worry.

 

“No, I said I _hate_ head wounds. Pay attention.”

 

“How do you get head wounds working on a farm?” he asked suspiciously.

 

“Not working. Wrestling with Elsa.”

 

“Is Elsa your pet pig?”

 

Anna burst out laughing at that, then winced and pressed the bloody cloth tighter against her forehead. “No, my sister. We used to play a lot, but then she grew up and I had to protect her.”

 

Kristoff frowned, puzzled. But before he could press his usually taciturn companion for more she stumbled and dropped to a knee, and would’ve planted her face on the floor had huge, warm hands not caught her again, helped her up again. “Don’t make me carry you,” he joked, knowing how she’d react.

 

He wasn’t disappointed. “Don’t be insulting,” she sniffed haughtily. She stood up straighter, but didn’t move yet. “I hate head wounds,” she whimpered, wincing. He wrapped her arm around his waist, held her up by hers, and slowly resumed walking. She sighed, but didn’t object.

 

He ducked under the arch into the Infirmary and saw Sven and the other physicians bustling about, setting out trays of implements and bowls filled with clear water and clean cloths. Sven looked up sharply and hurried over. “We heard the commotion, figured we’d have our hands full shortly. Didn’t expect to see you two.”

 

“It was a surprise for us as well,” Kristoff said grimly as he walked Anna over to a table and helped her sit on it.

 

Sven looked her over, his brown eyes critical as he checked her for injury. “Gods, girl, what’s the other guy look like?”

 

“Like his face ran into a very angry mountain,” she replied. Kristoff hid his smile as he washed his bloodied knuckles in a nearby bowl.

 

Sven shook his head with a smile. Anna blinked at him owlishly when he took her face in his hands and looked into her eyes. “I hate head wounds,” he muttered. She giggled, and Sven grinned. “Did I say something funny, little Aeris?” he chuckled. She just smiled, and winced as he probed at her abused forehead with gentle fingers. “You have an impressive goose egg, but fortunately the cuts aren’t very deep. Head wounds always bleed profusely.”

 

Kristoff stood back, arms crossed over his broad chest, frowning at the doorway as if he expected another attack. Sven washed Anna’s wounds clean, then ground willow bark and salt in his mortar. “So what happened?” he asked.

 

“Three _lorari_ jumped us in the dining hall.”

 

“ _What_?!” Sven exclaimed. “Why would they do something so blatantly stupid?”

 

“I wish I knew,” Kristoff muttered.

 

Sven shook his head in disbelief, then coaxed Anna to drink the medicine he mixed into a cup of water. “Will I have more patients to tend to?”

 

“Nope!” Anna drawled, grinning and kicking her dangling feet back and forth.

 

Sven cocked an eyebrow at his oldest friend. “The _Lanista_ is taking care of it,” Kristoff explained.

 

Sven groaned. “I hate crucifixions. They attract ants.”

 

“The _Lanista_ wants her to fight in tomorrow evening’s games.”

 

Sven frowned. “I’d be happier if she waited a day, but she may be fine by morning if she rests.” He applied a salve to her cuts, then gave her a small clay jar with a cork stopper in it. “You’ll have the mother of all headaches soon. Sprinkle this in some water and drink it, it will help.” Anna took the bottle and smiled softly in gratitude. “If you run out, ask Kristoff for some of his,” Sven said cheekily. “He gets hit in the head often enough to keep a supply handy.” Kristoff glared at Sven, then at Anna who giggled again.

 

It was late, and he didn’t want to deal with anyone at the moment, so Kristoff took her back to their shared cell. She walked a lot more steadily, but still had a dazed look about her. They made it without incident, but Kristoff barred the door anyway once they were inside. He turned and smiled when he saw that she had, of course, taken a seat on _his_ pallet. He unbuckled his belt and untied his harness, hanging both up on their pegs. She had said something earlier that troubled him, and her wound seemed to loosen her tongue, so he decided to press his luck. “Why does your sister need protecting?”

 

Anna shrugged and picked at the tattered edge of her _stola_ as it rested across her upper thigh. “People want to hurt her, and they don’t expect her baby sister to be able to stop them.”

 

Kristoff sat down in front of her, and couldn’t help but smile at the mental image of a young redhead, in pigtails most likely, fending off attackers like a fierce little lioness. “I bet you surprised a lot of them.”

 

“All of them,” she grinned fiercely, then her smile shifted to a sad, wistful twist of her lips. “I just wish…”

 

“What?”

 

She closed her eyes with a sigh and shook her head. Kristoff took her hands in his and gave them a gentle squeeze. She looked down at their hands, then lifted her sky-blue gaze up to his warm amber eyes. They stared at each other for the gods know how long, both lost in thoughts they couldn’t untangle. She startled him when she lifted her left hand and traced the scar over his right eye from hairline to cheekbone with a slender finger. “Where did you get this?” she asked softly.

 

He was so surprised he didn’t move, his throat suddenly dry as dust because her hand still rested on his face. “It was a gift,” he finally managed to husk out. She tilted her head curiously, not understanding his meaning. “The ones who captured me gave it to me, over nine winters ago.”

 

Her brows creased and her gaze dropped to her hand cupping his jaw. “I’m sorry,” she breathed. It was his turn to cant his head in curiosity, leaning into her warmth. _What an odd thing to say…_

 

He stood and gently helped her to her feet. They had to do a strange dance in the limited space between the pallets, but he turned them around and sat her down on her own blankets. She didn’t look up, but he saw the corner of her mouth twitch up in a half-smile. She settled down on her pallet, burrowing in for the night. Kristoff sprawled out on his own, closed his eyes, and gave in to the sensation of her hand on his face sending ripples of tingling warmth coursing through his veins. He knew it was a mistake, but couldn’t bring himself to care.

 

Her breathing slowed, and he turned to look at her sleeping peacefully, reaching over to brush a few loose strands of her coppery hair away from her face. The welt on her forehead was indeed impressive, but what made his breath catch was the small, sweet smile lingering on her lips, and the way she cradled her left hand protectively to her chest.


	7. Crazy Trust Exercise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Interesting factoid i learned while researching: Gladiators fought barefooted. Who knew?

“Citizens and gentles all, your moment of triumph has arrived! The indomitable Barbarian of the Frozen Northlands and the fierce Gladiatrix of Gallia will do battle this magnificent day against a trio of vicious Ostrogoths, for the glory and honor of Rome!!”

 

Kristoff and Anna stood in the middle of the arena, armed and armored and awaiting their battle. The mob’s bloodlust wasn’t slaked in the least by the feeding of the lions, and they howled in anticipation of the impending spectacle. The _Lanista’s_ announcements drove their excitement to a fevered pitch. The two gladiators adjusted their _scuta_ , the rectangular shields favored by Legionnaires, and raised their _manica_ -clad swordarms in salute.

 

“This glorious spectacle honors us all, and we have General Gaius Hansel Westerguard to thank for it.” More cheers erupted as the crimson-clad General stood and waved to the crowd. Anna deliberately dropped her arm and settled her helmet more firmly on her head, growling obscenities.

 

“Focus,” Kristoff advised as he glanced down at her curiously. He heard her take a breath and find her outward calm, though her eyes glittered dangerously behind her noseguard.

 

The _Lanista_ strode out the west end of the arena. At the same time, the eastern portcullis rose and burly, pale-skinned, dark-haired, heavily-armed Ostrogoths ran onto the field. “ _Six_?!” Kristoff cursed.

 

“Still don’t think somebody’s trying to kill us?” Anna grated.

 

“Fine, you may be right.”

 

The Ostrogoths circled wide, trying to surround them. “Any ideas?” she asked worriedly.

 

“Don’t let them get behind you,” he began.

 

“And don’t give them time to think,” she finished. They rushed forward with fierce ululating battle cries, startling their foes. Two of the Ostrogoths closed ranks, linking their oblong shields together to block. Kristoff ducked low while Anna feinted high, throwing them off-balance and breaking their defense. Anna darted to the side and slashed at her foe’s exposed legs, hamstringing him in a spray of blood while Kristoff twisted and with a cross-body uppercut took his opponent’s head.

 

The mob roared as the gladiators stood back-to-back, trying to lure their opponents in. The remaining four were not so easily fooled as their fallen kinsmen, and they hung back and circled warily. They didn’t speak, but they didn’t need to. Anna dipped her sword as if winded, and one of her opponents took the bait and rushed forward. She parried his strike with her _scutum_ and returned it, her smaller _gladius_ flashing against his shield like lightning. She jumped to the side and lashed out at the second, forcing him into a defensive crouch, then quickly turned and deflected the first’s lunge with her _scutum_ and answered his attack with several of her own.

 

Kristoff battled his two opponents with deadly grace, seamlessly flowing from stance to stance as he kept his foes off-balance and defensive. One barely managed to parry or block Kristoff’s blows, but the other wasn’t as quick and had gathered a collection of slices, cuts, and gashes on his arms and torso. The blood loss slowed him down, made him vulnerable. He tried to fall back, but Kristoff pressed his advantage and drove after him. It didn’t take long for the man to make a mistake, just a dip of a shield, but Kristoff capitalized on it and ran him through the ribs. The Ostrogoth stiffened, clutched at the blade, and fell backwards ripping the _gladius_ out of Kristoff’s hand. _Dammit, I keep hitting bone!_ he snarled.

 

The crowd gasped and roared. Anna risked a peek and saw her comrade weaponless and using his _scutum_ to block a furious rain of blows. She got her own _scutum_ up in time when one of her two opponents tried to take advantage of her distraction. She slashed high, ripped a huge chunk out of his scalp, and bolted as he fell back with a pained shriek.

 

The Ostrogoth grabbed the edge of Kristoff’s _scutum_ and yanked hard, jerking the big gladiator forward then clubbing him with the hilt of his sword. Kristoff collapsed to his knees, clutching his head, and the dark-haired barbarian raised his massive sword for the killing blow.

 

* * *

“ _Six_?!!?” the _Lanista_ bellowed. “How in the name of Tartarus did _six_ of them get in there?!”

 

“I-I-I don’t know, sir!” the head _Lorarus_ cowered. “I gave your orders to my _lorari_. Three were to be prepared!”

 

“And were your _irrumatori_ disobedient or just plain stupid when they doubled their orders?” the Lanista growled. He backhanded the head Lorarus when the swarthy man tried to deflect blame again. “Order the _lorari_ in. I want this fight stopped _now_!”

 

“We c-can’t, sir! Listen out there! The mob will rip us to shreds if we interfere!”

 

“ _I_ will rip you to shreds if we lose our star gladiators!” the _Lanista_ menaced. “I’ve put too much time and money into them to lose them to your idiocy!”

 

“They’re doing well so far,” the head _Lorarus_ offered.

 

“Pray they continue to do well,” the _Lanista_ folded his meaty arms across his chest with a curse. “Someone will feed the ravens for this, _landīca_. If my gladiators fall, it will be you.”

 

* * *

_no No NO!!_ The words shrieked in Anna’s mind as she ran across the arena floor. Something hot and tight clutched at her chest, burned in her throat as she saw the huge barbarian sword poised to strike her Kristoff.

 

Anna rushed between them with her _scutum_ raised, and the sword struck her with the force of a thunderclap. The vibrations rattled her joints and would’ve dropped her had she not braced herself over Kristoff’s crumpled form.

 

The huge Ostrogoth cursed savagely in a language she’s never heard before, and slammed his sword against her _scutum_ again. And again. And again.

 

Kristoff shook his head and looked up at her protecting him. His jaw dropped as he watched, her entire body shook with each massive blow from the barbarian who was nearly twice her height and triple her weight. The sound of the sword striking the _scutum_ was louder than a temple bell, making it hard for him to clear his foggy head.

 

She timed the Ostrogoth’s rhythm, and after the fourth blow grabbed the edge of her _scutum_ and drove its sharp bronze edge down into the barbarian’s bare foot, severing his toes. He howled in agony, which abruptly cut off when she took her _scutum_ in both hands and swung it at his unprotected head, braining him.

 

By now Kristoff had regained his feet. She turned and tossed her _gladius_ to him. But before she could reclaim her _scutum_ the Ostrogoth she scalped barreled into her, driving her back into the ground. She pistoned her legs up, using his momentum to kick him up and over onto his own back. She flipped up into a crouch, pulled a needle-bladed _pugio_ from her harness, and drove it into his eye socket.

 

She unsheathed her twin _siccae_ and glanced around, searching for the last Ostrogoth. He was attacking Kristoff, shrieking with incoherent rage. Kristoff was relentless, flicking her smaller _gladius_ like the tongue of a snake against his opponent as he fell back, luring his foe away from Anna. But the blood loss didn’t stop this beast of a man, who charged like a mad bull. Kristoff sidestepped and slammed his fist into the man’s skull, stunning him. He wobbled on his feet, then fell to his knees. Kristoff grabbed a fistful of the man’s greasy hair and laid the _gladius_ against his neck, and the barbarian stiffened with a hiss and dropped his sword in surrender.

 

The mob howled. They enjoyed the battles, and reveled in the outrageous decadence of their beloved gladiator and his beautiful gladiatrix facing down impossible odds. But this was the culmination of the entire spectacle, the climactic moment of triumph where the Emperor himself would decide the fate of the fallen man. Kristoff stood above his opponent, panting with exertion, awaiting the verdict. Competing shouts echoed throughout the arena, seeming to argue with each other, until they coalesced into a resounding _Die! Die! Die!_

But it wasn’t the Emperor who stood to deliver the verdict. It was the General who rose and extended his arm, thumb held horizontally as he basked in the glow of the adoring mob. Anna quivered with fury. She sheathed her _siccae_ , planted her bare foot on the throat of the fallen Ostrogoth before her, and yanked her _pugio_ out of his skull. She marched over and, just as the general’s thumb rotated downward, jammed the _pugio_ into the kneeling man’s heart. He gasped, blood pouring from his mouth. Kristoff pulled, slicing the man’s throat almost to the bone. He toppled over with a gurgled sigh.

 

Kristoff’s amber gaze bored into Anna’s azure eyes, searching. _Why_ , his eyes seemed to ask. She was sweaty, dusty, and blood-soaked. She was radiantly defiant. He held out his hand, palm up, and she grasped his wrist in a warrior’s clasp. The mob thundered in applause, chanting _Westerguard! Westerguard! Westerguard!_

 

They did not hear it.

 

* * *

 

 

“ _Maledicte eam_!” Hans seethed. How dare she try to steal his glory!? How dare she be so rudely defiant!? How dare she still be _alive_!??! He was so livid even the crowd chanting his name did nothing to quell his anger. He turned, and his furious gaze locked on the spindly chamber slave tending to the used wine goblets. Hans stalked over to him in three strides and viciously backhanded him across his bulbous nose, then kicked him as he fell to the ground and wrapped his skinny arms around his oblong head to protect it. “Time to accelerate my plans,” he glowered. Hans left the boy twitching and whimpering on the mosaic-tiled floor as he strode out of the Imperial box, crimson cloak billowing around his ankles.

 

* * *

“Where are we going?” Anna asked as they walked down a flight of stone stairs leading to the lower levels of the _ludus_.

 

“To take care of something that needs taking care of.”

 

“What?” she inquired. They reached the bottom and turned the corner, and she immediately turned around and walked right back out. Or at least she would have had Kristoff not caught her by the arm.

 

“No,” she declared firmly.

 

“You need to bathe, Aeris.”

 

“I bathe!” she protested.

 

“Sneaking into the paddocks to wash in a horse trough every night doesn’t count.”

 

“It’s better than… than…” she gesticulated at the room before them, tiled from floor to ceiling and filled with clouds of steam and a dozen gladiators as bare as they were the day they were born.

 

“No, it’s not. You smell like a reindeer.”

 

“What’s a reindeer?”

 

Kristoff grinned. “Something you’re not supposed to smell like.”

 

Kristoff guided her over to a table, where an assortment of clay jars, bowls, and metal implements rested. He grabbed two sets of each, then handed her one of the metal tools, a dull and oddly-curved blade with a leather-wrapped handle that was folded back down along the long edge of the blade. “How am I supposed to defend myself with this?!” she demanded as she glared at it

 

“No need to defend yourself, we’re all gladiators here.” He nodded at the implement she was holding. “That’s a _strigil_. You use it to scrape your skin clean.” She squinted at it in skeptical disbelief, then turned that same glare to him. “Come, I’ll show you.”

 

“No-ho-ho, I’m leaving,” she declared as she shoved the _strigil_ back at him and turned to leave.

 

He switched tactics. “You stare down _lorari_ and Ostrogoths and bears without batting an eye, but _this_ makes you balk?”

 

She stiffened, nostrils flared, and spun around to glare murder at him. He returned her glare with a mischievous gleam in his eye. She yanked her supplies back and walked proudly into the chamber, eyes forward and pointedly ignoring the chuckling blond mountain following her. The other gladiators barely looked up as they passed, too focused on enjoying the steam or tending to their own bathing.

 

She made her way to the very back and stared at the low tile bench. Kristoff set his supplies down, along with a stack of linen cloths. “Just sit and relax, let the steam do the work,” he told her. He sighed when she didn’t move. “You can face the wall if you’d like. I’ll guard your back,” he reassured her softly.

 

She took a deep breath, then nodded curtly. She took a linen cloth and sat down on the bench, facing back. Kristoff sat next to her on the other side of the narrow bench, facing out. She closed her eyes and attempted to relax. The steam _was_ rather nice. It was scented with herbs of some sort, and pleasantly warm on her tired muscles. She heard him shift, and she opened her eyes to see him pulling his tunic off over his head. Heat flooded her face as she watched the muscles in his shoulders bunch and shift under his skin as he grabbed the clay jar, poured a thick yellow liquid onto his hands, then rubbed it into the skin of his arm. Next he took the _strigil_ and ran it over his bicep, then deposited the collected material into the clay bowl. He looked up and saw her observing him so he demonstrated again, this time on a burly forearm.

 

Anna tore her eyes away before she burst into flames. Desperate for a distraction, she grabbed her own clay pot, nearly knocking it over but catching it before it shattered onto the floor. She viciously fought down a nervous giggle and instead worked out the stopper and sniffed curiously at its contents. It was olive oil, with a few other ingredients she couldn’t readily identify. She poured some into her hand and stared at it skeptically. She made the mistake of glancing up at Kristoff, who was using both hands to rub oil onto his chest and abdomen. He smiled and nodded encouragingly at her. Her hand trembled with a sudden overpowering urge to reach over and help him, so she quickly slapped it down on her own forearm and rubbed a lot harder than was necessary. “I feel like a pheasant getting prepared for the oven,” she muttered. She felt more than heard Kristoff chuckle rumble out of him, felt it flutter and bounce and settle deep within her abdomen. The oil made her skin gleam and tingle pleasantly. She grabbed her _strigil_ and scraped her arm clean. She smiled down at it, surprisingly pleased with the results.

 

“What do they do with this?” she asked, tapping her _strigil_ clean on the edge of the clay bowl.

 

“Trust me, you don’t want to know,” he grinned.

 

She quickly got the hang of it, and efficiently cleaned both of her arms before moving to her legs. Kristoff’s cleaning, and his breathing, slowed considerably as he watched her run the _strigil_ from her slim ankle up the swell of her calf, over her knee, and up her freckle-dusted thigh all the way to the hem of her belted tunic. He snapped his eyes shut and flushed a deep crimson when she unbelted and removed her tunic. He tried focusing on his _strigil_ working on his arm, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the narrow nip of her waist, the curve of her spine, the way the wings of her shoulder blades shifted beneath her ivory skin as she scraped her _strigil_ along the freckled slope where her neck and shoulders met. She spoke without turning, “You’re still watching my back, right?”

 

He had to swallow several times, his throat bone-dry despite the steam, before he could utter a gruff “yeah...” She looked at him curiously over her shoulder, and he’d swear to every god he could name that he did _not_ squeak and twitch, and attempted to get at his own back without looking like he was looking.

 

Anna watched him struggle, and an insane idea bubbled up in her brain. Before she could think it through her traitorous mouth opened. “Would you, umm, like some, uh… help? With that? Uh, I mean your, um, back?”

 

Kristoff blinked, his mind struggling to wrap around what he just heard. “Ummm, sure?” he said, and turned his back to her. He tried for nonchalance, but his breath caught in his throat as his entire existence narrowed down to her two small hands rubbing olive oil onto his shoulders.

 

She stared mutely as her fingers gently traced the many scars on his muscled back, then she shook her head. _We’re both gladiators, s_ he thought as she poured a generous amount of oil into her hands _. We’re just comrades helping each other, that’s all._ She applied the oil to his broad back with trembling hands, desperately clinging to her professionalism as her fingers worked the oil over his ribs, down his spine. _We’ve got each other’s… backs… oh gods…_ She took his _strigil_ and slowly, gently, scraped his skin until it gleamed golden in the flickering torchlight.

 

“All done,” she squeaked, the _strigil_ dropped from her twitching fingers as she wrapped her arms protectively around her chest and hastily turned on the bench.

 

He turned and gazed at her sitting in the steam, all subtle muscles and soft curves and ginger freckles and _oh gods_ … Before he could stop himself he asked, “Want me to, um, you know… return the favor?”

 

She turned and cocked a curious eyebrow at him sitting there with one hand rubbing his neck nervously, the other holding the oil jar. “Is that the normal etiquette here?” she asked. He nodded mutely, so she turned her back to him to hide her tremulous smile. “Then yes please, by all means. I wouldn’t want anyone to think me rude,” she teased. He chuckled, the tension draining a bit. He opened the bottle and poured the scented oil into his palms.

 

She gasped when she felt his hand on her back, and he almost pulled away except that she sighed and leaned into his warm touch. His two hands together were nearly the same breadth as her back, and they trembled as he gently worked the oil along the pebbled length of her spine. Her sigh evolved into a pleased hum as he worked over her left shoulder, and he rubbed his fingers more firmly into her sore muscles, tracing her shoulder blade with his thumb. “Hurts?”

 

“Yeah. Blocking with the _scutus_ stung more than I thought it would.”

 

“You should go see the masseuses,” he advised.

 

“No,” she said firmly.

 

“Why not?”

 

“This crazy trust exercise of so-called bathing is bad enough, but you’re a fool if you think I’m going to lay helpless with my back open and exposed.”

 

“I guarantee you’ll feel a million times better than you do now.”

 

“Hmm, I seriously doubt that,” she hummed, leaning into the fingers digging into her skin and removing the pain as if by magic. She jerked upright with a stammer, blushing all the way down her neck, but relaxed again when he started working on her right shoulder. _Just comrades_ , she reminded herself, her eyes fluttered shut as she fought the urge to curl up and purr like a contented kitten.

 

“I never got the chance to thank you,” he murmured, close enough for his breath to curl around her ear and sigh down her neck.

 

“For what?” she asked softly.

 

“For paying attention to your training. For being there for me. For saving my life.”

 

_“_ I suppose we’re even now,” she breathed. _Just fellow gladiators, nothing more._ Her thoughts were bittersweet as she felt the _strigil_ gently glide over her skin, then heard it clack against the tile bench as he set it down. They sat together in companionable silence for a long while after that, the steam creating an isolated island of calm they both have sorely missed.


	8. Lights in the Sky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you know that you can find sound recordings of the Auroras online? It’s pretty cool.

It was another “feeding day,” so Kristoff and Anna slipped away to train. The energy in the pit as the other gladiators pounced on the kitchen slaves had them both restless and on edge. So they ran several laps around the training ground to focus and center their thoughts.

 

They both pulled practice weapons from the racks, a medium-sized _gladius_ for Kristoff and a pair of _siccae_ for his one-time _novicius_. “Why do you keep practicing with your _siccae_?” he questioned. “You should work on your weaknesses, not your strengths.”

 

“Because a woman my size is more likely to have smaller blades on hand, not a _gladius_.”

 

“You’re a gladiator now, Aeris,” he reminded her. “You may use whatever weapon you desire.”

 

“I don’t know about you, but I don’t plan on being a gladiator forever--”

 

“Nor do I,” he frowned, stung.

 

“--and I need to be prepared for the future.”

 

“You need to survive long enough to _get_ to that future, Aeris!” he said crossly. “Fighting with inferior weapons, no matter how good you are with them, is an unnecessary risk. Your foes can rely on their armor to protect them while they tire you out dodging their counter-attacks. It’s too messy, too drawn out.”

 

“Isn’t a long, drawn-out, bloody battle what the mob thirsts for?”

 

“Aye, they prefer the spectacle over the clean kill,” he conceded. “But you risk injury or worse when you get distracted.”

 

“I’m not distracted!” she said with a huff.

 

“Do you make a habit of lying to yourself?” he asked her harshly. She bristled at that. “Every battle you work your way to the south end of the arena, to the Imperial box. Every single battle! You deliberately run the risk of getting hurt, or… or worse,” he stumbles over his words. He didn’t understand why just the thought of her falling felt worse than a blade to the gut. “Why?” he husked out. “What’s so damn special about that box?”

 

Her hands grip her practice blades tightly as she stared down at them. When she lifted her eyes back to his they hid behind a mask of cool indifference. “Something I need to do,” she answered, which was no answer.

 

“Look,” he sighed, pleading with her “I get it. You hate someone up in that Imperial box. Trust me, I’m not fond of them either. But you’re taking too many risks!”

 

She twitched as if struck, her careful mask crumbled and that haunted look that tore at his soul bled out. Only this time it wasn’t coupled with rage or guilt, but with an aching sadness that cut to the bone. Unbidden, he reached out to her, but she spun fast enough to slap his fingers with the ends of her braids. She stormed over to the weapons rack and pulled out a pair of the largest practice _gladii_ and heaved one over to Kristoff. He caught it with ease and stared at her questioningly.

 

“Learn from my mistakes,” she snarled, dropping into a textbook-perfect stance even with the ridiculously oversized wooden practice blade. “Avoid distractions. Focus on staying alive.”

 

He blinked, recognizing his own words. But instead of sharpening his focus like they usually did, they filled him with a sadness he didn’t understand, and a longing he couldn’t shake.

 

* * *

The Imperial gardens were exquisitely lovely that day, the air thick with the heady scent of so many blooms. Valeria Aelsia Glaciem and Anatonia Ustrina sat side-by-side on their favorite bench near a small pool with a clever little waterfall that sang to them. The two imperial princesses were deep in discussion. “Oh Elsa, you should see him! He really is quite handsome!”

 

“I have seen him many times, my sister. He has been around the Imperial Palace much more frequently as of late. Plus His family _has_ served ours for a long time.”

 

“Oh, I know,” Anna waved her hand, unperturbed. “But he’s courting me. _Me_! Can you believe it? He may even ask Father to marry me!”

 

“Already? Anna, you just met him! You can’t consider marrying him already.”

 

“Why not? You can if it’s true love! It must be! Every other eligible man wants to marry _you_ , not me.”

 

“It’s because I’m _Imperatrix Destinatus.”_

 

“It’s because you’re more beautifuller.”

 

“An _na_!”

 

“I know, Elsa. Sorry,” Anna said, contrite. “But it’s nice to find someone who’s actually interested in, you know, _me_ for a change.”

 

“And you really, truly, honestly think that is Hans?” Elsa asked with sincerity.

 

“Why wouldn’t he be?”

 

“Use that big brain of yours, my sister. His rise to General happened so fast, and Father’s relying on his counsel far too much for someone who’s held the baton for such a short amount of time. Would you be willing to allow me to consider marriage after such a short amount of time, with so many things that do not add up? There is something about him that does not feel right.”

 

Anna looked down at her hands fiddling with the edge of her pale rose _stola_. “I want it to be right,” she said meekly.

 

Elsa took her sister’s hands. “I just want you to be happy, my little _aeris_. I have my concerns about him. Let my people test him to see if he truly wishes to marry you for you, not for power or political gain. Just a simple test to see if he reacts to the chance that the _Imperatrix Destinatus_ may be interested in him. If he is genuine, nothing will change. And if he passes, you will have my blessing.”

 

“Thank you, Elsa,” Anna embraced her beloved sister.

 

* * *

The Emperor strode up to the two princesses sitting side-by-side on their favorite bench near a small pool with a clever little waterfall. “Wonderful news, daughters! If only your mother was alive to see such a happy day,” he beamed.

 

Anna and Elsa looked to each other, excitement in one set of blue eyes and concern in the other. Both sets then turned to the Emperor. “What is it, father?” they asked in unison.

 

“I’ve just received a proposal for House Westerguard to join with our family in marriage. Their youngest son and my most trusted advisor Gaius Hansel wishes to marry you—“

 

“Oh that’s wonderful!!” Anna said joyfully.

 

“My heart is glad you are so happy for your sister, my little _aeris_. I too think the young General will be a perfect match for our Elsa.”

 

_a perfect match for our Elsa…_

 

_a perfect match for our Elsa…_

 

_a perfect match for our Elsa…_

 

The world seemed to grind to a halt.

 

Both sisters stared at the Emperor’s retreating back. Elsa squeezed her little sister’s hand. “Oh Anna…”

 

She was unnaturally still, and spoke in a self-mocking monotone. “I guess I was wrong. It wasn’t true love.”

 

“I know, little _aeris_. I’m sorry. All it took was the merest hint that I might be interested, and he showed his true colors. I’m so sorry he broke your heart.”

 

Anna drew a shuddering breath, then looked calmly at her sister. “My heart will be fine. We have a bigger problem on our hands now.”

 

“Yes. The general is obviously only interested in power, not loyalty or honor. We’ll need to act quickly and dispose of him, before he sinks his claws any deeper into our beloved father.”

 

“Any ideas?”

 

“Always, little _aeris_. Always.”

 

* * *

Large hands grabbed her arms, pulled her hair, ripped her _stola_ , punched her abdomen, slapped her face. She tried to fight back, but there were too many hands working together, working against her. They pressed her into the tiled floor of her own room. The hands twisted and burned her skin, and made her look up. Power-hungry green eyes burned over a crisp military uniform of gilded scarlet. “Oh Anna, if only you weren’t such a naïve little fool,” he smirked.

 

“Hans? What…”

 

Those soulless green eyes circled her faster than she could track. “As thirteenth in line in my own house, I didn’t stand a chance. I knew I’d have to marry into power, and what’s more powerful than the Emperor’s sonless family?”

 

“But—“

 

“As _Imperatrix Destinatus_ , Valeria Aelsia Glaciem was preferable, of course. But no one was getting anywhere with her Imperial Iciness. So I tried a different approach, targeting a much weaker flank. You.” His grin wrapped around his leering face, his sharp teeth glinting green in the witchlight of his eyes.

 

“And you were so desperate for a love of your own that you were willing to entertain a marriage proposal just like _that_. Not ideal, of course, but I could make it work. But then your sister came around--”

 

“ _Mentula_! You're no match for Elsa!”

 

“No, _you're_ no match for Elsa. You’re such a paltry, petty little thing compared to her potential. Nothing but a back-up. A spare. And now you’re a spare in every way imaginable. A spare I no longer need. A spare no one needs. A spare that only the lions in the arena would care to fight over.”

 

“You won't get away with this!”

 

“Oh, but I already have, and I have you to thank for it. Now all I have to do is subdue your sister, kill your father, and rule the empire. The old man is easy, so feeble he can’t even sire sons, but how to subdue that icy _futatrix_ of a sister of yours? I could just kill her, but where’s the fun in that? I think it’d be much more entertaining to bend her to my will, to take her and break her and make her beg me to do it again and again and again. Which, to be honest, is what I had planned for you. So, in a way, this is all your fault.”

 

_all_ your fault…

 

_all your fault…_

 

Anna bolted upright, gasping for breath, gripping the edge of her pallet with white-knuckled fists. Kristoff sat up just as quickly and scanned the cell for enemies, grasping for the _pugio_ he kept hidden in his own pallet. Seeing none he put the weapon away and focused on his unlikely friend. She was trembling violently, and tears poured from her eyes. They were wide open, but sightless and dark as if stuck in a nightmare. “Aeris?” No answer. He waved his hand in front of her face. Still nothing. He took her slender shoulders in his hands and shook her gently. Still no response.

 

He held her face between his palms and called her name softly, wiping the tears from her cheeks with the pads of his thumbs. A solid minute later her breathing shuddered and stopped, her hands clamped onto his wrists, and she locked her gaze on his. Her eyes were so unblinkingly wide and dilated he could see his face scrunched in concern reflected back from the onyx depths. She tried to speak, but no words worked their way through a throat squeezed tight with terror and guilt. She collapsed against him, buried her face in the crook of his neck, and sobbed.

 

He sat there wide-eyed for a moment, at a complete loss for what to do. He wasn’t used to physical contact that didn’t involve a _gladius_ , and had neither given nor received comfort since before he was captured as a child. Instinct and memory took over, and he wound his arms around her, pulled her into his lap, and held her close. He rocked her gently as she trembled violently; her eerily silent sobs wracked her tiny frame. He shifted until they lay more comfortably on his pallet. He tucked her head under his chin, stroked her hair, rubbed small circles in her back, and still she shook and cried, his tunic clutched tightly in her fists.

 

He couldn’t think of anything else to do for her so he spoke to her, his voice low and soothing. Digging through his memories again, he told her stories of his home across the sea in the frozen north. How his people lived in homes of wood and thatch, very different from the rock and stone of Rome. How his elders farmed and fished and tended herds of reindeer. How summers were warm and pleasant, and how the heaths would fill with wildflowers of brilliant yellow and purple and butterflies of shimmering blue, orange, and white. How he would run freely through the woods, chasing long-eared hares and climbing mossy rocks and falling into muddy creeks. How the winters were so much colder than they were in Rome. How his people wore furs and cut ice and fished and hunted and how the cold air pierced your lungs and burned your cheeks and made you feel alive. He spoke of tall mountains and narrow valleys and deep fjords, of days where the sun barely cleared the horizon.

 

She calmed as she listened to him. He kept stroking his hands through her silken hair and across the smooth skin her back, and kept talking.

 

He spoke of lights in the sky. Vast ribbons of shimmering green and blue that would dance across the night sky. Some say the light comes from reflections off the armor of warrior goddesses on the hunt for worthy souls. Others say they are ancestors playing in the afterlife. He didn’t know what they were, other than amazing. Some nights they were just faint whispers on the horizon, other nights they were bold rivers bright enough to nearly snowblind you if you weren’t careful. And sometimes, if the night was very still, you could hear them humming and hissing and crackling like a distant campfire.

 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her head still pillowed on his chest.

 

“Don’t be,” he murmured. “Are you ok?”

 

She was silent for a moment, then sighed, “I will be.”

 

“Want to talk about it?”

 

Again, silence. She burrowed her face deeper into him. _She still doesn’t trust me_ , he thought sadly, his hands ceasing their movements, a painful lump forming in his throat. “It’s ok, Aeris. I understand.”

 

“Anna,” she said softly.

 

“Hmm?”

 

“My name. It’s… it’s Anna.”

 

“Anna,” he said, a hint of true wonder in his voice, the lump disappearing from his throat as he tasted her name for the first time. _Maybe she_ does _trust me…_ “I’m, uh, kind of used to calling you Aeris,” he chuckled softly.

 

“That’s ok. I kind of like you calling me Aeris,” she said with a small, tired smile. His hands started moving again, fingers combing through her coppery locks. She made no move to return to her own pallet, and Kristoff honestly hoped she wouldn’t. He thought she had fallen back asleep after a few moments, but she spoke softly, “Lights in the sky, you say?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Someday I would like to see them,” she yawned. He looked down at her nestled against his side. The terror had melted away, leaving her limp and exhausted in its wake. He could see her eyelashes lying damp against her tear-stained cheek, feel the gentle rise and fall of her chest against his own as sleep claimed her once more. He tightened his arms, pulled her in closer, kept her warm and safe as he whispered into her hair.

 

“Someday I would like to show you…”


	9. Treachery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i researched lots of old Norse & Latin swearwords for this fic....

The _Lanista_ had all of the gladiators out on the training grounds the next day. Dozens of men and Anna were paired off and sparing with each other with wooden practice weapons. Anna traded blows with the stout gladiator from Baetica while Kristoff sparred with the lanky Aquitanian.

 

They both needed the space, to think if nothing else. That morning had been nine kinds of awkward. Kristoff woke first to the completely alien sensation of a tangle of warm, soft limbs wrapped around him. It was easily one of the most pleasant feelings he’d ever experienced in his entire life, and in his half-asleep state he wound himself tighter around her until a snore louder than an old saw fighting against an older tree stump jarred him fully awake, and memory roared back like a summer squall.

 

Anna woke up too, and scrambled off of his pallet so fast she fell through the narrow gap between it and her own, getting her bottom stuck while her arms flailed awkwardly until she found enough leverage to pull herself up and scoot back onto her own pallet. They stared at each other, wide-eyed, flustered, blushing furiously, both fighting hordes of conflicting emotions. Anna wanted to sink into her blankets and die of embarrassment, or laugh and try to ignore the fact that she broke down in the middle of the night in a moment of inexcusable weakness, or reach over and find out if he tasted as delicious as he did in her dreams. Kristoff wanted to be stoic, needed to brush the whole thing off, but her warmth was in his arms, her scent was in his memory, and there she was in front of him with a sleep-puffy face and rumpled hair wild about her head like the mane of the world’s most ridiculous lion.

 

She broke first, giving a self-deprecating half-smile and half-laugh, and Kristoff lost it. He laughed out loud, shaking his head at the whole odd mess. Anna laughed too as she pointed at his own snarled haystack bedhead and giggled like a hyena. Their shared laughter helped them get through the morning, but they still blushed whenever one would startle like a skittish horse.

 

And now here they were, sparring against each other. They flowed from stance to stance, tracing the unseen steps of the dance as if they’ve shared it all their lives. His precise, powerful attacks balanced well against her agile, liquid technique. Their practice blades clacked a staccato rhythm as they sparred, flowing from attack to defense and back as seamlessly as if they shared each other’s thoughts. Kristoff enjoyed the tranquility of purposeful movement. Muscle and sinew bunched and flexed under sweat-drenched skin as they moved together with fluid grace. The sunlight behind her curled around the curve of her thigh, the plane of her abdomen, the column of her neck, and made her hair glow a burnished copper. Her face was sharp with focus and determination, and he felt his concentration slipping into the limitless depths of her sky-blue eyes.

 

Anna sensed his unbalance and pressed the advantage. She unleashed a flurry of ferocious attacks, forcing Kristoff back as he blocked each one. With a mighty heave she shoved him back, and he stumbled a few steps before regaining his feet under him in a defensive crouch. Anna coiled to launch again, but he broke his stance. “I need to go talk to Sven,” Kristoff said abruptly.

 

She cocked her head at him curiously, then shrugged. “Ok. Meet you there later.” She walked over to practice her _gladius_ on a _palus_. Her technique really was improving, despite her lack of fondness for the weapon.

 

“Um, are you sure that’s wise?” he worried.

 

The _palus_ shivered in the dirt when she struck it with a resounding thwack. “I’m in the middle of the training grounds surrounded by my fellow gladiators, whom you’ve been telling me I should trust more,” she teased without breaking her form. “I’ll be fine.”

 

“If you say so, Aeris,” he chuckled as he returned his _gladius_ to the weapons rack and walked away.

 

* * *

Emperor Agdarius had been sick in bed for nearly two months. It was a lingering, wasting sickness that sucked the vitality out of the old man. Elsa stayed by his side, tending to him, speaking with the physicians and healers and even the priests of Vejovis. But they were stumped as to the cause, and could only focus their efforts on easing his pain and quieting his mind.

 

Her fiancée was more than willing to take on the additional threads of leadership her father in his deluded and weakened state was more than willing to give to him. Elsa was stretched thin between caring for her father and keeping the General from weaving those threads into reins of power.

 

Gerda was also overextended, chasing ghosts of rumors from the far corners of the Empire. She knew she was being played, and that knowledge burned, but she couldn’t afford to risk that one rumor could actually be the truth.

 

Today the Emperor was lucid, but still terribly weak. Elsa held his once-strong hand in her cool one and spoke softly with him about the latest reports from the Senate. He also asked about his favorite gladiators, but Elsa had no news since she had not attended the games since Anatonia disappeared. It felt…wrong...to seek respite while her beloved sister was in danger, so Elsa stayed away from the arena.

 

The servants let the General into the room, and he strode in with an arrogant swirl of his cape. “How are you feeling today, your Imperial Majesty?” he bowed.

 

“I’m fine, son,” the Emperor smiled.

 

The General preened at the familial compliment, then sat down opposite Elsa at the Emperor’s bedside. He placed a flagon and goblet on the side table, then took the old man’s hand in his. “I brought you some of your favorite wine, sir.”

 

“I do not think that is wise,” Elsa said coolly. “Wine clouds the mind and dulls the senses.”

 

“Nonsense,” Hans chuckled “It fortifies the blood and strengthens the heart.”

 

“And I am a bit parched,” the Emperor said hopefully. Hans smiled down at the old man, and poured him a goblet of the blood red liquid. He took it and sipped gratefully from the cup, and handed it back with a contented sigh. Elsa said nothing, merely holding onto her father’s right hand.

 

Hans took his left again, and the Emperor smiled wanly. “I truly wish I heal in time to see you two wed.” he said fondly.

 

“Preparations are almost complete, my Lord. We just need to set the date.”

 

“And we need Anatonia to return,” Elsa said firmly. “I will not marry without my sister in attendance. I was told she would return in time for the ceremony.”

 

Hans glared at her over the Emperor’s head. “I’m sure she’s on her way soon,” he lied smoothly. “Perhaps I’ll go check the dispatches from the Illyrium Provinces. I’m sure there will be good news coming.”

 

“Thank you,” the Emperor said. Hans smiled down and nodded to the old man, stood to bow, then left the room.

 

Elsa carefully considered her father’s state, and decided to take a risk. “Poppa, I actually do have… news of Anatonia,” Elsa said reluctantly. “I fear she may have been kidnapped.”

 

“What?!” the Emperor tried to sit up, but fell back against the plush pillows. “Treachery! Who has done this monstrous thing? How?”

 

“I do not know yet, Poppa. I am working with the Imperial guards to find out.”

 

“Is she alright? Have they demanded ransom?”

 

“No, not as such. There is no public knowledge of the kidnapping as of yet, either. The kidnapper is being amazingly quiet about it, and so am I. I have most of the Heart Guard Legion in the field searching for her.”

 

“You’ll find her, my little _nyx_. I have faith in you.” Elsa smiled warmly at her father’s confidence in her. “Get General Hansel involved with this too, my daughter.”

 

Elsa’s eyes hardened dangerously. “Yes, father. Hans is most definitely involved in this treachery.”

 

* * *

The head _Lorarus_ and two of his underlings strode through the portcullis. He cracked his whip, gathering the attention of the training gladiators. “Everyone out, now!” he barked.

 

Most of the gladiators bristled at the curt command, but reluctantly complied. They lacked the rank to disobey his orders. The Baetican and Aquitanian were the last to leave, so they saw the predatory gleam in the head _Lorarus’_ eyes as he watched the one gladiator who did not obey. They also saw four more _lorarii_ walk in, weapons in hand. The Baetican opened his mouth to call out but the last _lorarus_ , a one-eyed brute, backhanded him across the face with the hilt of his _pugio_. The Aquitanian helped his stout comrade up, then they both walked to the bottom of the ramp without a word. Once there, they bolted for help.

 

They didn’t need to see to know what would happen once the lone gladiator turned and saw seven armed _lorarii_ circling her.

 

* * *

Anna continued working on the _palus_ , but her mind was far from the training grounds. It had been nearly three months, _three months!_ And still she was no closer to removing that snake of a general from her family’s bosom.

 

At first she agreed with the _Lanista’s_ ridiculous plan to turn her into a gladiatrix because she hoped that if the General believed her dead, she’d have more freedom to act behind the scenes and quietly remove him without revealing herself. But this bloody pit afforded her no opportunities to communicate with her family or her sister’s operatives. There were too many guards, too many eyes watching her, _too many_ lorarii _trying to kill me_. So she changed plans and searched for the chance to denounce the General to her father and all the citizens of Rome. It would mean breaking her cover, but if it resulted with the general’s head on a pole in the courtyard it would be worth it.

 

But neither her father nor her sister had been to the arena in the two months since she earned her _tiro_. _Why? Father loves the games, why would he stay away?_ she pondered as she practiced with the long-bladed wooden _gladius_. She feared the worst, especially when Hans appeared to be usurping her father’s place in the Imperial Box, and the mob’s affection for him was growing like a well-watered weed. _That_ made her attack the _palus_ with renewed vigor, the clack of wood on wood echoing across the training ground. How could her own people fall for his tricks?

 

_You did_ , her traitorous thoughts reminded her. She blushed with shame and embarrassment, striking the _palus_ and wishing it was his face. If she hadn’t been distracted by that _cūlus_ her sister would still be safe, her father wouldn’t have fallen under his spell, and she wouldn’t be fighting for her life in this bloody pit. _Kristoff’s right, it_ is _better to avoid distractions and focus on what’s important._

 

_Kristoff_ …

 

No matter how she fought it, there was no denying her feelings for the big, burly gladiator who reluctantly became her trainer, then even more reluctantly her friend. At first he infuriated her. _Still does,_ she thought with amusement. And she still gets way more amusement than she should from pestering and baiting him. He challenged every preconceived notion she had about gladiators, about men, about life in general. Sure, he was stoic, but he also had a sense of humor that peeked out in the most enticing ways. He was a paragon of Roman pride and physical prowess, yet was not Roman. She was taught to believe he was her inferior in every possible way, yet every day she learned so much from him. He was a barbarian from the frozen wastelands of the north, but he treated her with more civility, camaraderie, and warmth than she’s ever known outside her own blood.

 

She snarled, hitting the _palus_ hard enough to send painful vibrations up and down her arms, and then did it again and again. This was worse than useless! It had nowhere to go! Once Hans was removed she would return to her life as an Imperial Princess, to serving as her father’s advisor and her sister’s shadow protector. And Kristoff would remain a gladiator, or maybe leave and return to his homeland in the distant north a world away from the Rome he hated, from the Imperial royals who held him captive, from her…

 

She dropped the tip of her blade to the dirt and rested her forehead against the _palus_ , her eyes squeezed tightly shut against the pain of that thought. She tried focusing her thoughts on her family, and her need to protect them. But instead she thought of hands she once saw rip a man’s throat out gently soothing the pain from her shoulders. She thought of arms that once crushed a lion’s ribcage holding her in a tender, warm embrace. She thought of a heart that guarded closely-held secrets, yet beat soft and steady against her ear as he guarded her dreams. She thought of ribbons of blue and green light dancing in the sky, and imagined how they’d look reflected in his eyes as he cupped her face in those huge calloused hands of his and brought his lips to hers…

 

She turned suddenly, finally sensing things were no longer as they were, and saw the training ground devoid of all people except seven _lorarii_ armed with long whips and _pugios_ who circled her, and she with only a long wooden practice blade. The men grinned lasciviously. “Time to die, little _futatrix_ ,” the one-eyed _lorarus_ purred.

 

* * *

“You want to _what_?!?”

 

“You heard me,” Kristoff crossed his arms and leaned against the examination table.

 

“Aye, I heard you. I wanted to be sure I wasn’t losing my mind right along with you.” Sven snapped.

 

“I don’t want to leave her behind in this pit,” Kristoff declared.

 

“Honorable,” Sven conceded. “But did you stop to think that she may be the only way the _Lanista_ will let you leave? He’s so giddy with all the gold he’s raking in with his gladiatrix he can afford to let us _both_ go!”

 

Kristoff shifted uncomfortably, and said nothing. Sven canted his head, glaring hard at the big gladiator. “Gods, I’m a _vitskertr_ ,” he exclaimed. “You _like_ her, don’t you?”

 

Kristoff avoided his oldest friend’s eyes. “I don’t want to use her,” he said.

 

“You don’t want to _lose_ her, you mean,” Sven countered.

 

“Sometimes I really don’t like you,” Kristoff pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

 

“I can’t believe it!” Sven howled with laughter. “After all this time, all those _oflati_ who practically threw themselves at you, and you finally fall for one the _Lanista_ practically threw _you_ at! Oh, this is priceless!!”

 

“ _Gaugbrojotr_ ,” Kristoff growled at him.

 

“You know I take that as a compliment,” Sven hooted. Kristoff sighed. “Ok, ok. Joking aside, assuming I agree to this idiocy, what happens if she says no?”

 

“Then we move forward with the plan like we have been. Nothing changes,” Kristoff answered.

 

_Nothing my ass,_ Sven thought, seeing the twinge of sadness in his friend’s eyes at that possibility. “What happens if she says yes?” he asked quietly.

 

Kristoff took a deep breath, and slowly let it out, “Then we stay longer, have both of us earn our _rudii_. Then we all leave together.”

 

“Longer?!” Sven’s hand smacked his forehead, then dragged down the length of his face. “Kristoff, it’s been almost 10 _years_! We swore to each other that we would get out of this stinking cesspool as soon as we could, together! How much longer do you think we’ll last in this place?”

 

Kristoff opened his mouth, but he had no answer. He turned his head and closed his eyes, but Sven could clearly see the pain etched in his friend’s face. “Do you love her?” he asked.

 

Kristoff stared down at the floor for a good long time. “I trust her,” he finally said.

 

Sven’s breath whistled out in surprise. He looked at Kristoff for a long moment, and then walked up to him. “Then ask her,” he clasped his friend’s shoulder “If she’s foolish enough to say yes, I’ll happily be your third wheel.”

 

“ _Miklimunnr brusi,_ ” Kristoff muttered, grinning.

 

“I take that as a compliment too, you know,” Sven grinned back impishly.

 

The Aquitanian gladiator rounded the corner, out of breath and wide-eyed. His gaze quickly fell on the two northmen. “Treachery!” he wheezed.

 

Kristoff flew through the arched doorway quicker than lightning, Sven and the Aquitanian fast on his heels. He took the stairs three at a time, not even bothering to ask. He knew where he had last seen the Aquitanian, knew why the slender man would come looking specifically for him, and felt icy tendrils of terror worm through his chest because he knew why his fellow gladiator would run himself winded searching for him, he knew what sort of treachery was afoot, and he _knew_ he should never have left her…

 

_Anna_ … _!_


	10. Do What You Must

Kristoff ran like he’d never run before. Fear compressed his heart and flooded his system, giving him speed the gods themselves would envy. Slaves and fellow gladiators shied away from him as he raced through the halls of the _ludus_ , for they saw death in his eyes.

 

A low growl built deep in his chest as his imagination flogged him with visions of what he could expect once he reached the training grounds. His Anna facing _lorarii_ again, only this time they wanted her dead. They would toy with her like a pack of mongrel dogs with a rat, batting her about like a child’s plaything, carving out chunks of flesh to weaken her, spilling her blood to slow her down. He barely held onto his sanity as he neared the ramp to the training grounds. A short gladiator from Hibernia tossed up a thick-poled trident, and Kristoff snatched it from the air without breaking stride.

 

He flew through the portcullis and out onto the training ground. Five _lorarii_ had her centered and completely surrounded, their whips cracking all around her and their _pugiones_ dripping with her blood. She was still on her feet, though her left arm hung useless at her side. She gripped one of her _siccae_ in a hand coated in blood up to the elbow. She bled from dozens of cuts and whip burns, and she stumbled glassy-eyed over the two corpses at her feet, both with a shard of her practice _gladius_ rammed through their guts.

 

He didn’t even slow down. The growl erupted as a full-throated roar as he charged. The _lorarii_ flinched as they saw him bear down on them with all the implacable fury of an avalanche. But they were five to his one, so two peeled off to attack him while three remained focused on Anna.

 

Kristoff sidestepped their charge and swung the butt end of the trident in a wide arc, catching the _lorarus_ square in the jaw with so much force it ripped through his face and spattered his partner with teeth and brains. Kristoff never looked back as he kept sprinting towards his grossly outnumbered Anna.

 

The gore-soaked _lorarus_ turned to chase, but was brought up short when the Aquitanian gladiator ran him through from behind. Blood fountained from his mouth as he clutched the _gladius_ protruding from his chest, and he collapsed to the dirt with a wet, choking grunt. The slender Aquitanian kicked the body off of his _gladius_ and ran on.

 

Kristoff bellowed barely-coherent obscenities as he charged the last three _lorarii_. Two rushed him while the head _lorarus_ chased after Anna. Their mistake was thinking the big gladiator was there to fight. Fighting was the farthest thing from his mind. He was there to protect, and to kill. One _lorarus_ cracked his whip at him, scoring his left arm but it did nothing to stop Kristoff from thrusting the trident into his stomach, the barbed tines pulling out gobbets of entrails when he jerked it back out. The _lorarus_ had the presence of mind to slash at his opponent’s eyes with his _pugio_. He missed, but Kristoff didn’t. He drove the trident into the _lorarus’_ throat with enough force to throw him back and pin him to the ground.

 

The Beatican gladiator rushed onto the grounds, followed by the massive _Lanista_. The old _Rudiarius_ glared at the bodies of his men, and at the two still on their feet. “ _HOLD!!_ ” he bellowed. The last _lorarus_ saw three armed gladiators as well as the _Lanista_ bearing down on him and wisely threw his weapons down and dropped to his knees in surrender. The head _lorarus_ stared at them in a moment of agonized indecision, and then bolted towards Anna with his _pugio_ raised to strike.

 

Kristoff was much faster than the smaller man, and he caught the _lorarus_ by the wrist just as he desperately lunged at Anna. The sound of bones grinding and snapping was drowned out by shrieks as Kristoff crushed the _lorarus’_ wrist with his left hand. Kristoff bared his teeth, his right wrapped around the smaller man’s throat and he lifted him into the air. The _lorarus’_ feet kicked feebly at Kristoff’s thighs as the big gladiator slowly squeezed the life from him.

 

“Kristoff, drop him!” The _Lanista_ ordered. Kristoff ignored him, lifting the head _Lorarus_ even higher in the air by his neck. The scrawny man was writhing weakly, going blue in the face. “ _Kristoff!!_ I want him alive!” the _Lanista_ barked. “He has information we need!” The big gladiator eventually complied, and tossed the man at his master’s feet. The _Lanista_ and the Aquitanian gladiator bound the traitor’s arms behind his back and dragged him away for questioning.

 

Kristoff paid them no mind as he turned to Anna, who swayed dangerously on her feet. Her head lolled to the side, and she would have fallen had Kristoff not caught her. She cried out in pain when his hand closed over her left shoulder, her arm clearly dislocated. He snatched his hand away. “I’m sorry,” she whimpered. He hushed her, soothing her sweat-soaked hair from her face, but she wasn’t listening. Her eyes tried to focus on him, but they were wild and glazed with pain. “Kristoff I’m so sorry…”

 

Sven hurried up to them, and quickly assessed her injuries. Kristoff held her upright while she mumbled an agony-induced litany, “I’m sorry… I should’ve listened… I should’ve known… It’s all my fault…”

 

“I need to set her arm before we can move her to the infirmary,” Sven said, looking up at his friend. Kristoff nodded curtly, and swallowed the lump rising in his throat. Sven had to set his shoulder once before, a long time ago. This wasn’t going to be pretty. He looked around for a wall or something, _anything_ to use. But they were in the middle of the blood-soaked field, with only the lonely slender _palus_ standing upright in the dirt behind them. Sven stared at it, and then looked grimly at Kristoff, who grimaced in return. This _really_ wasn’t going to be pretty.

 

Kristoff quickly braced his back against the _palus_ , and turned the babbling Anna so her back rested against his broad chest. She tilted her head up, never breaking eye contact with him as she whispered, “It’s not safe… you have to get away… I’m sorry… Kristoff… you have to get away from me… not safe… I’m so sorry…”

 

“On three,” Sven said, grasping Anna’s elbow and shoulder. “One, two…” and he slammed Anna hard against Kristoff’s sternum, wrenching and shoving her shoulder back into its socket at the same time. Anna’s litany cut off with a hiss and her eyes rolled up in her head as she passed out. Kristoff caught her limp form and held her while Sven tied several strips of linen around her arm, splinting it against her chest. Kristoff then lifted her effortlessly. She succeeded in killing two of her attackers, yet she felt so small, so vulnerable in his arms. _And what did she mean, get away from her?_ he thought as he cradled her gently against his own bruised chest, vowing to keep her safe even if all of the nine hells were after her. He followed Sven down the ramp, their Baetican and Hibernian comrades guarding them as they carefully made their way down to the infirmary.

 

* * *

One hundred fully armed and armored members of the Imperial Heart Guard Legion marched into the Westerguard compound, securing the courtyard over the vociferous objections of the servants and the house guard. One of the many Westerguard brothers, Cassius, stormed out into the courtyard. “What is the meaning of this?” he demanded with all the pomp and fury of a senior Senator.

 

The Legion’s _Centurion_ saluted the Senator, but there was nothing subservient in the gesture. “Make way for her Imperial Highness! The _Imperiatrix Destinatus_ favors your humble domicile with her presence.”

 

Elsa stepped down from the curtained palanquin and stood regally in the courtyard. Her handmaiden Gerda and her _praefectus castrorum_ , Kai, flanked a deferential step behind her.

 

The Senator blinked, but gave no other outward sign of distress. “My house is honored, your Imperial Highness. How may we be of service to the Empire?” he bowed smoothly. Decades in the Senate as well as being eldest surviving male heir of the House honed his diplomatic skills to perfection. But something told him he was out of his league.

 

“Senator,” Elsa said by way of greeting, managing to look down on him despite him being half a head taller than she. “I have come to assess the premises.”

 

“The premises?”

 

“The premises,” Elsa repeated, as if to a slow child. “Your brother proposed marriage to our Emperor. I have come to assess the value of his proposed bride price.”

 

“I don’t understand, Highness.” Cassius said. Half of the Heart Guard _legionaries_ fanned out into the inner buildings of the compound. All had strict orders on what to look for, given to them by Kai prior to their arrival. “My brother informed me that the bride price was already agreed upon. Why are your _legionaries_ ransacking my house?”

 

Hans strode pass the invading guards and into the courtyard to stand at his brother’s side. Elsa glanced at him once, her eyes glittering, then returned her attention to the elder Westerguard. “Your brother wishes to marry into our imperial House, Senator, as it is the higher-ranked House. My father, our Emperor, is unfortunately ill, so it falls upon me as heir to ensure the interests of our House are adequately promoted. Hence, assessing the value of the House you wish to offer as bride price.”

 

“The _house_?!” the elder Westerguard blanched. “You mean the entire compound?”

 

“This little place?” Elsa looked around, and smiled a small, brittle, condescending smile. “No, I mean your _House_.”

 

“B-b-but my brother is General and _Legatus legionis_ of the Legions of the Northlands!” Cassius protested. “He brings their honor and loyalty to your House, as well as the considerable wealth in tributes pouring into the Imperial coffers!”

 

“Ah,” Elsa raised a slender finger as if to concede the point. “So you are telling me the General brings me the loyalty and might of the Northern Legions. Legions that are, by definition, already in service to and loyal to the Empire and its ruler,” Elsa mused. “And he also brings tribute, which is already Imperial property,” she smiled softly. “Are you suggesting he is offering things that are already mine?”

 

“N-no, of course not my Lady,” Cassius grinned weakly.

 

“That is reassuring, Senator. It would pain me if I had to have him executed for insulting our House and the Empire.”

 

Both men shifted uncomfortably. “I thought we had agreed upon a _special_ bride price in private, my lady,” Hans said pointedly.

 

“Yes, I do recall you offering a… personal gift that interests me. But you’ve yet to produce it, and I am beginning to question if you still have the means to do so.”

 

“It has proven… difficult to procure,” Hans grated.

 

“You promised me my heart’s desire, my fiancée,” she pinned him with an icy glare. “Something of great value to me. My patience has worn thin,” Elsa folded her hands before her. “I do not like to be kept waiting.”

 

* * *

“Ugh, I hate waiting,” Sven groused, trying to lighten the mood.

 

Kristoff ignored him. He’d been ignoring him for most of the last two days. He slowly drew the whetstone over his shorter _gladius_ and stared at the door leading to the main infirmary. The door was lockable, but he didn’t care. It was also guarded by gladiators he came close to trusting, but he didn’t care.

 

“This isn’t your fault, you know,” Sven pointed out for probably the tenth time that day. A muscle in Kristoff’s jaw twitched, but he kept on sharpening his blade. He’d already honed his main _gladius_ , his long _spathea_ , two _pila_ , and all six of his _pugiones_ , all without his eyes leaving the door. All of his weapons were sharp enough to perform surgery with by now, but he kept at it. He had also sharpened her _siccae_ , though his hands trembled with suppressed rage while he handled her beloved blades.

 

Anna lay silent and still on the large examination table. She had not stirred since Sven set her arm, and Kristoff felt his sanity depended on the soft and steady rhythm of her breathing. Her wounds were stitched and salved, her bruises the sickly yellow-green of healing flesh, and the swelling in her injured shoulder had receded, but she did not wake up. Sven kept her fed, hydrated, and medicated by means of threading a length of sheep’s intestine down her throat and trickling in water and salt, honey and olive oil, and Kristoff held her gently upright in his arms during the procedure that likely hurt like all the hells. But still she did not wake up.

 

“You need to sleep,” Sven said, probably for the twentieth time that day alone.

 

“I’m fine,” Kristoff rumbled.

 

“No, you’re not,” Sven sighed. “And assuming someone gets through the guards AND the locked door, you’re in no shape to stop them.”

 

Kristoff’s eyes tightened and he continued pushing the stone on the blade, making a sound that honestly ate Sven’s last nerve hours ago. “I’m not asking you to leave. Lie down on the other table, or curl up next to her. Hells, I’ll bring that stool over and you can rest your head next to her for a while.” Sven put his hand over Kristoff’s, stilling the stone. “You’re no good to her like this,” he murmured gently.

 

Kristoff sighed, and then wearily nodded his head. He placed his weapons carefully within reach while Sven brought over the stool. He crossed his arms on the table, gently took her hand and wrapped it up in his own, then rested his head on top. He was asleep less than a minute later. Sven smiled sadly down at his oldest friend, and his newest one. “Idiots,” he chuckled softly. He closed and relocked the door, letting them both rest and heal together.

 

* * *

“You said you had everything under control!” Cassius roared.

 

“The wench is proving more difficult to subdue than I predicted,” Hans shrugged.

 

“The _wench_ , as you call her, is threatening to take our entire _House_! She could have our heads on javelins decorating our own courtyard with a snap of her fingers!”

 

Hans glowered at his eldest brother, the gray wisps of hair standing out against the beet red skin of his pate. “Your influence in the Senate protects us.”

 

“I wouldn’t rely on that,” Cassius worried. “Agdarius is a sly bastard, and his daughter is ten times worse. Even if I block an Imperial decree it would burn all of my political capital, and there’s no guarantee she won’t find other means to usurp our holdings.”

 

“Don’t exaggerate,” Hans scoffed.

 

“For the gods’ sakes, Hans, just give her what she wants!” Cassius hissed, then turned on his sandaled heel and stormed out of his brother’s chambers with his red and white toga swirling around his ankles.

 

Hans glared at his brother’s retreating back, then turned and walked to the window of his chambers, staring down into the courtyard below, swarming with Imperial _legionaries_ that _should_ have been under his command by now! “You better have good news for me, Weselton,” he growled to his _praefectus fabrum._

 

“I’m sorry, my lord,” Weselton bowed. “The _lorarii_ have failed us--“ his voice cut off as the general’s _gladius_ pierced his throat. Blood poured from his neck as he topped to his knees, his mouth working soundlessly and his hands reaching out imploringly to his master. Hans calmly wiped his blade clean on the outstretched sleeves of his tunic before the little man fell over dead.

 

“If you want something done right,” he sheathed his _gladius_ and stepped over the corpse. “You do it yourself.”


	11. Captured

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ghaa, i suck at titles!

Kristoff picked his head up and rubbed a calloused hand over his eyes, a bit stiff and groggy but surprisingly well-rested. He saw that he still held Anna’s slender hand, and that she still hadn’t moved. He looked up and saw Sven enter the room with an armful of implements. “How long was I asleep?”

 

“Not long enough,” Sven muttered.

 

“Sven…”

 

“Alright, fine. A day.”

 

“A day? A whole _day_?! How is that even possible?”

 

“I have no idea,” Sven whistled innocently, tucking a small glass vial back into his toga.

 

Kristoff gave him a hard look, but let it pass. He looked back down at Anna, squeezed her hand gently. She squeezed back, and he rubbed his thumb soothingly over her knuckles. “Wait, what?” She actually _moved_! “Aeris?” he implored, tucking a lock of her coppery hair behind her ear.

 

Sven hurried over just as she opened her clear blue eyes. “How are you feeling?” he asked.

 

She took a deep breath and winced as she sat up. Kristoff gently helped her. “I’ve felt worse,” she gasped, throat raspy from disuse and abuse. Kristoff couldn’t help but smile.

 

“Drink this,” Sven ordered, pressing an earthenware cup to her lips, and she did. The water was warm and tasted strongly of honey, salt, citrus, sulpher, and willow bark.

 

“Thank you,” she said, her voice sounding better already. She looked up at Kristoff and saw relief, concern, and so much more brimming in his amber eyes. She wanted, oh how she _wanted_ to sink into those depths, to wrap herself up in him and just let go. But she knew she couldn’t. Not anymore. _Not ever, probably._ Wrenching her eyes away was one of the hardest things she’d ever done. “Thank you,” she repeated, “but you better get out of here.”

 

“Wait, what? Why?!” Kristoff demanded.

 

“Because it isn’t safe.”

 

“This is _my_ infirmary, little Aeris, I’m not going anywhere anytime soon,” Sven said, giving Kristoff a very pointed look.

 

“Fine, then let me up,” she said, sliding her legs off the table. “I’ll draw them away.”

 

“Like hell you will!” Kristoff growled, refusing to let go of her hand.

 

“What, think I can’t handle myself?” Anna bristled, tugging at her hand.

 

“That’s not the point!” he exclaimed. “Who are they? What do they want?” Kristoff pleaded for answers. “Talk to me, Aeris. Why are they after you?”

 

Her shoulders sagged and that same haunted look ghosted over her bruised face. The one that made his heart clench tightly in his chest. The one that made him fight the urge to gather her up into his arms and never let her go. “It doesn’t matter anymore,” she shook her head.

 

“It matters to me,” Kristoff murmured as he drew her hand up and wrapped it in both of his. “I can’t help you if I don’t know what we’re dealing with.”

 

She looked at his hands holding her trembling one, because she knew she’d lose her resolve if she looked him in the eye. “This isn’t your fight,” she breathed.

 

“I don’t care.”

 

* * *

After the debacle on the training grounds the _Lanista_ ordered the _lorarii_ to the pit, where he had little trouble incarcerating every last one of them. Standing head and shoulders taller than every man there, leaning on a _spathea_ longer than his leg while flanked by a dozen fully-armed kept the bloodshed to a minimum.

 

The one surviving _lorarus_ from the botched attack proved the most useful. The rest either blustered and bargained for their lives, or sobbed pitifully. Every single one of the _lorarii_ were convinced to betray the _ludus_ , bribed or blackmailed by the head _Lorarus_ himself _._

 

“Why should I believe you?” the _Lanista_ demanded harshly.

 

“Because I was one of the ones being blackmailed,” he replied simply. “I have no loyalty to that _mentula_ you’re torturing in the other room.”

 

“What do you expect will happen if you cooperate?”

 

“A clean death,” the man shrugged. “At this point that’s all I’ve got business hoping for.”

 

The _Lanista_ nodded, and gestured for him to continue telling his tale.

 

“We were ordered to kill the gladiatrix as quickly and painfully as possible. Some tried attacking her in the pit or the dining hall or the bathing chambers. Some even tried poisoning her food.”

 

“Why? On who’s orders?!”

 

“We weren’t told who or why, just ordered to do it. There was gold to be had for the ones who managed to kill her. Enough gold to wipe away our debts AND buy an estate in the countryside. Who were we to say no to that kind of freedom?”

 

No more questions were asked, and the _lorarus_ was led away. The _Lanista_ sat thoughtfully for a long time, then stood and walked to the next cell. The thick wooden door muffled the prisoner’s agonized wails, which burst forth when the old _Rudiarius_ opened it to enter the room. Inside, the former head _Lorarus_ hung naked from a pair of iron hooks in the ceiling driven through his feet, while two cadaverous men used rusty _pugiones_ to slice narrow strips of skin off of his thighs, back, and abdomen. A brazier sizzled below him every time a drop of sweat or blood or worse fell into the coals.

 

The _Lanista_ strode over and grabbed a fistful of hair, yanking the wretch’s head up. “You forgot your place and gave orders behind my back, _landīca_. Well, now I grant you the power you so desperately craved. You’re in command of this situation. This goes on until you give me the name.”

 

The broken man wept and babbled incoherently. The _Lanista_ let his head drop. “Fool. Between these two and my physicians, I can keep you alive for months. Use the power I’ve given you. Give me the name of the ones who ordered you to betray my _ludus_ and murder my gladiatrix!”

 

His weeping stopped, replaced by a low, slow laugh that crept up in pitch and intensity until he cackled insanely. The _Lanista_ spat in disgust and turned to leave. He stopped dead when the condemned man shrieked out the last name he expected to hear.

 

“We… West… Westerguard!!! WESTERGUARD!!!”

 

* * *

“I don’t care….” Kristoff said.

 

“You should,” Anna replied, strengthening her resolve. _They’re depending on me to keep them safe, even if they don’t know it._ “This is bigger than any of us, and I can’t control it anymore. The _lorarii_ failed earlier today, but others will come tonight, and they _will_ kill anyone in their way.”

 

“The _Lanista_ took steps. All the _lorarii_ were removed.” Kristoff explained.

 

“A-all of them?” Anna exclaimed.

 

“All of them,” Sven confirmed. “Three days ago.”

 

“Wait, _what?!_ ”

 

“They did quite a number on you, little Aeris,” Sven explained. “You’ve been unconscious for three days.”

 

“No…” she whispered hoarsely. She looked at both men, eyes wide with panic. “No no no three _days_? They’ll be here any moment then! You have to go, now!”

 

“Who’s trying to kill you, Aeris?” Kristoff all but begged. She shook her head, refused to speak. “Anna, please…”

 

“It’s the General,” she finally answered. “General Westerguard.”

 

“My ears are burning,” a smooth voice mocked from the doorway. The General stood there, dressed in royal armor he didn’t deserve, while a dozen of his House _legionaries_ flooded the small room. Outnumbered four to one, they didn’t struggle when they were pinned down with razor-sharp _pila_ poised to strike at their vitals.

 

Once his men secured the room the general sauntered in, tucking his gauntlets behind his belt. The _Lanista_ hurried in after him, but one look at the room kept his tongue in check. Hans gestured, and his _decanus_ ordered two _legionaries_ to circle the old _Rudiarius_ with their _pila_ at the ready. The big man bristled angrily, but kept his peace.

 

“I have to admit, my dear,” Hans walked over to loom over Anna, “I’m very put out at your inability to die.”

 

“Likewise,” Anna grated.

 

He casually backhanded her across the mouth. Kristoff growled low in his throat, but Anna stilled him with a raised hand. Hans continued as if nothing happened. “Imagine my surprise that you’re not only still breathing, but a full-fledged Gladiatrix. _You_!” he sneered. “The training here must be amazing!”

 

Anna’s eyes darted to Kristoff, trying to ignore both his puzzled look and Hans’ acidic barb. “Why are you here,” she demanded.

 

“The little Anatonia is now a big Gladiatrix, and a crowd favorite in the arena! Unbelievable!” he mocked. “The people love you,” Hans’ fists clench at his side, jealous. “They certainly like you better as their beloved gladiatrix than as the spare Imperial Princess.”

 

The room went deathly silent. Kristoff stared at her in disbelief. Sven’s jaw dropped. Even the _Lanista_ looked shocked.

 

“They didn’t know?” Hans laughed derisively. “Oh that’s rich! How telling that you mongrels fail to notice high blood among you. She must be as good at concealing the truth as she is concealing her fighting prowess.”

 

Anna looked to Kristoff, silently imploring him to understand. Her eyes widened as his face slowly shut down and closed her out. Her eyes slid shut in despair. She fought back the urge to crumple, to howl, to rage, to show any emotion whatsoever. A single tear betrayed her efforts. “What do you want, Hans,” she demanded stonily.

 

“I want what’s rightfully mine. I want the throne. I want the mob’s adoration. And I want you dead. I can achieve all of this by fighting you in the arena tomorrow.”

 

She blinked. “You want to fight me, in the arena, tomorrow.”

 

“I can see it now: my men and I, resplendent in our royal armor, giving the mob an amazing spectacle for the ages. And when I drive my _gladius_ into your pretty little heart, they’ll love me more than their own Emperor. Taking the throne will be child’s play after that.”

 

“I’ve been out of your way for three months and you _still_ aren’t Emperor?” Anna taunted. “Told you you’re no match for Elsa.” He hissed and slapped her again, the crack of his hand echoing in the small room. Kristoff inhaled sharply, and the _decanus_ pressed his _pilum_ more firmly against his ribs.

 

“Wait, you AND your men, against her alone?!” Sven objected. “That’s not a spectacle, that’s an execution!”

 

“That’s the idea,” Hans smirked.

 

“She’s injured. She’s in no condition to fight at all, let alone by herself!”

 

“Hmm,” Hans canted his head thoughtfully. “I don’t want to risk the people not buying it and withholding their approval. The mob _is_ known for being fickle like that. So I’ll fight the barbarian as well.” He pointed at Kristoff, who narrowed his eyes dangerously at the auburn-haired general.

 

“Leave him out of this,” Anna snapped. “He’s just a gladiator. Your fight’s with me.”

 

“He’s the top Gladiator of the upper class. He was the crowd favorite until you came along. I’m sure the small-brained dirt grubber will be pleased to see me end you, for all of ten seconds before I gut him as well. I do like it when men die happy, and I’ll take _his_ glory as well as yours. The mob will love me more than their own mothers!”

 

“You can’t kill both of my star gladiators, my Lord!” the _Lanista_ finally spoke out.

 

“I can and will do whatever I damn well please, old man, and I will not tolerate disobedience from anyone, least of all a former slave!” Hans snarled. “You will keep your low-born tongue leashed or I will pull my patronage and crucify you and your entire family!”

 

The _Lanista_ backed away a few steps and bowed his head, shamed.

 

Satisfied, Hans turns back to his men. “Take them away. Lock them up and stand guard on their cell. I don’t want them to escape, and I do _not_ want anyone to kill them before I do.”

 

* * *

Kristoff walked silently into the cell, impassive as he was bound to a wall. Anna struggled the entire time it took the _decanus_ and two _legionaries_ to bind her arms behind her and shackle her to the opposite wall by her neck. She snarled insults at them, pulling at her restraints as they took the torch and exited the tiny cell, sliding the bolt home with an echoing cthunk.

 

The cell was indeed small. Kristoff could stand and almost brush his fingertips against opposite walls, if he weren’t chained to one of them. Rotten bits of straw moldered on the hard stone floor. Silvery moonlight streamed down through a narrow window high on the wall, illuminating Anna while leaving Kristoff obscured in shadow.

 

Anna twisted and pulled at her restraints, rattling the chains until they pulled tight. Kristoff said nothing. She backed off, gulped air into her bruised lungs, then redoubled her efforts against the shackles. The metal collar bit into her neck, but she ignored it as she strained to break the chain or at least loosen her arms. The metal did not so much as budge. Kristoff didn’t respond. She thrashed about for several minutes more, ignoring the blood weeping from the numerous new wounds, her arms bent back behind her at an awkward angle, the chains keeping her from moving more than halfway across the floor. She dropped her head, panting heavily. She turned, crawled back away, and collapsed in a shuddering heap against the wall. And still Kristoff remained silent.

 

_She’s the princess._ He thought, trying to make sense of that insane impossibility. _She is the_ princess _! All these months, and she_ lied _to me!_ That thought cut him deeper than he cared to admit. _I’m just a game to her! Just a sick joke!_

 

As incensed as he was, he couldn’t help but recognize the similarities between her lying in a heap against the wall now, and the time three months ago when the gladiators were fighting over her. Only this time instead of being tangled in a net, she was chained to the wall with her hands bound behind her. _She certainly can’t seem to keep herself out of trouble_ , he thought fondly, then viciously squashed the fondness.

 

“So you’re the princess,” he deadpanned.

 

“Not impressed, I take it,” the lump curled up against the wall deadpanned right back at him. “It’s fine, most aren’t.”

 

“Is Anna even your real name?

 

“My full name is Anatonia Ustrina, but that’s a mouthful. Anna shortens it, but I told you you could call me Aeris.” _Only those closest to me call me that…_ “Nothing’s changed.”

 

He snorted. She sighed sadly.

 

“Why?” he asked softly. “If you’re the princess, why spend so many months playing gladiator?”

 

“I wasn’t playing,” she huffed as she pulled herself upright and leaned wearily against the wall. “And I’m not _the_ princess. I’m _a_ princess. My sister’s _the_ Princess. The one everyone cares about, anyway,” she explained. “We actually encouraged that thought,” she laughed mirthlessly. “The less I was seen, the easier it was for me to protect her from assassins or upstart suitors.”

 

“That doesn’t explain why you’re still here, or why you were even here in the first place.”

 

Anna hung her head, shame staining her cheeks crimson. “One of those suitors was more than just an upstart. He outflanked us, and it was all my fault. He used me to get to my father, and to my sister. So he had the clout and the audacity to have me permanently removed.”

 

“Westerguard.”

 

“Yeah,” She barked out another humorless laugh, “I wasn’t supposed to survive those lions.”

 

“But you did. So why stay?”

 

“I took a risk,” she shrugged. “If Hans thought I was dead, I figured I could move around more freely, undermine him from the shadows. But I was too restricted. Had too many eyes on me, and I had no access to the outside for an entire month until I earned the _tiro_.”

 

“Most take at least six.”

 

“I had help,” she smiled shyly at him. He said nothing, and she couldn’t see his face so her smile melted away. “Anyway,” she sighed wistfully, “that wasn’t working, so I changed plans. I tried getting messages out, but that didn’t work either. If I could get my father’s or my sister’s attention in the Imperial Box, then I could get them to denounce the General for what he’s done. But I’ve yet to see them there. Either of them! It doesn’t make sense! If anything had happened to either of them, even _we_ would’ve heard about it!”

 

She rubbed her eyes against her knees, fiercely determined not to cry anymore. “And then the _lorarii_ started attacking me, and I hadn’t come up with a new plan yet. Guess I don’t have to now,” she said bitterly.

 

He studied her, trying to process everything she’d told him. In its own way, it made sense. Each decision she made, as brutal as they were, fit into her overarching drive to protect her sister and kill the General. He could grudgingly accept that, even admire it. But there was one thing that didn’t add up. One thing that didn’t fit neatly into her plans…

 

“You said I was _just_ a gladiator,” he said, a bit of heat finally coloring his voice. “Is that all you think of me?”

 

Anna lifted her head from her knees and glared at him incredulously. “Of course not! How could you even think I would think so little of you?” she demanded, leaning forward. He remained silent in the shadows. “You’ve been my trainer, my _friend_ , for months! We’ve shared every meal, guarded each other’s backs, slept in the same cell, hell we even _bathed_ together! I lo--" she swallowed hard, then sighed, angry at her own cowardice. “I only wanted to protect you from Hans. I had no right to involve you in this. Any of this. It isn’t your fight.”

 

Kristoff stared at her thoughtfully as she retreated back to her wall. “Ten years ago the Roman Legions destroyed my village,” he said softly, his voice unnaturally monotone. Anna flinched, hunching lower against the wall in shame. “Their general and his staff were in parlay with our elders. They drew their peace-bound swords and slaughtered everyone. I watched as they ran my father through, slit my mother’s throat. They burned our homes, and captured all of the children. Those too young to march were beheaded. The rest of us were brought to Rome as slaves. The boys were sold to whoever would buy us, the girls were taken and never seen again.

 

“Sven and I were sold to the _ludus_. We swore to each other that we would protect each other, and do what we needed to do to escape or earn our freedom, and to return to our home. Revenge on the general who murdered our people would also be nice. But for Sven’s sake I’d do without revenge.”

 

Kristoff drew a deep breath. “The General’s name was Marius Westerguard.” Anna gasped. “Yes, the same name,” he growled, eyes glinting even in the shadows. “So don’t think this isn’t my fight too.”

 

He watched her as she crawled back towards him, to the limit of her restraints. She looked up into his shadow-darkened face, and her expression ensnared him. It was the same haunted, guilt-ridden countenance she wore the very first time he saw her. But this time it warred with a deep, aching longing and a savage, implacable resolve. “I don’t care what I have to do, but I _will_ see you free of this place,” she swore to him. A single tear escaped her eye, tracing a path down her bruised, freckled cheek. “You’ll have your revenge, somehow. Then you and Sven will be free, and free to l-leave.” She stuttered a bit, tripping over that last word. She hung her head, her coppery hair hiding her face. “I will make this right by you,” she whispered fiercely. “I swear it on my mother’s soul!”

 

He blinked, taken aback by her vehemence. He felt the thick bands of hatred enveloping his heart shudder and crumble before this tiny slip of a princess chained to the wall in front of him. She had her father and sister to protect, which she tried to do even while trapped in the _ludus_ fighting for her own life. She had her own reasons to hate the Westerguards, very good reasons. Yet even with the weight of the empire on her slender shoulders she vowed to help _him_ above all else. He still didn’t understand why, but he started to understand that ‘why’ may not matter.

 

Without realizing it, he moved to the center of the cell, as close to her as his restraints would allow. He could see her face, eyes closed, tears gently falling, looking as if she had lost everything that held meaning to her yet still struggled to fight on. _So much strength, so much_ fire _!_ He couldn’t resist her even if he wanted; she pulled at him like a lodestone. He leaned in and brushed his lips across her cheek, tasting the salt of her tears. When she unknowingly turned and leaned into his feather-light caress he captured her lips and kissed her long and soft and slow. His heart pounded in his chest when he felt her lips move against his, returning the kiss with equal fervor.

 

The moonlight cast the tiny cell in a silvery ethereal glow. It glinted on the dull metal chains that held them apart, a physical manifestation of the impossibly enormous gulf that lay between them. She, an imperial princess born to help rule the largest empire in the world and he, a captured slave from a distant land, forced to fight and kill to survive. But in that one moon-drenched moment, after months of breaking down barriers carefully tended by both, they reject the impossible and reach out for their hearts’ desire.

 

They reluctantly pulled back for air, and Kristoff couldn’t help but smile at how her eyes were screwed shut, afraid to open and find this all to be a dream. Eventually she did open her eyes, wide as saucers, and he felt himself drown in the naked longing swirling in her azure depths. “I don’t understand,” she breathed through kiss-stung lips. “I’m everything you hate, every wrong you’ve endured.”

 

“I could never hate you,” he murmured as he brushed his nose against hers. “I just tried. It didn’t work.”

 

“But I lied to you.”

 

“I understand why now,” he replied softly, resting his forehead against hers. “I didn’t tell you the whole truth either.”

 

“But… I’m one of them.”

 

“I don’t care,” he smiled gently. “I’ve seen your heart. There’s more courage and honor in you than anyone else I’ve ever known.”

 

“But--" he cut off her objection by slanting his mouth over hers again, nipping at her bottom lip and soothing it with his tongue. She shuddered, pressed herself closely to him, parted her lips and delved into him.

 

“But I didn’t follow your advice,” she breathed between searing kisses. “I got distracted,” he blazed a trail down the slender column of her neck. “I didn’t focus on staying alive.” He nipped at the cluster of freckles dusting the junction of her neck and shoulder, just below the metal collar of her restraints, making her moan low in her throat.

 

“Neither did I,” he groaned into her neck, sending jolts of heat coursing through her veins. She found his mouth again, claimed it again, as they both struggled against the shackles keeping them apart. But in that moment escape was not on their minds.

 

“Kristoff…” she hummed into his mouth.

 

“Hmm?”

 

“We may die tomorrow,”

 

“That’s the life of a gladiator,” he mused, ghosting his lips behind her ear.

 

“True,” she hummed, trailing kisses along his stubbled jawline. “But if it is our day to die…”

 

“Yes?”

 

She leaned back and gave him a feral grin, “Let’s make sure that _spurio_ dies first!”


	12. To Arms

The Lady Valeria Aelsia Glaciem sat in her low seat next to the vacant Emperor’s throne, her back ramrod straight and her hands folded sedately in her lap. Her icy gaze tracked the General as he strode into the chamber and leaned indolently against the throne. She narrowed her eyes at his insolence, but chose to say nothing.

 

“Good news, my pet,” Hans drawled.

 

He waited for her to speak, and frowned when she did not respond. “On this fine morning you and I shall host the grandest spectacle Rome has seen since the time of Gaius Julius Caesar himself,” he grinned, carried away by his own words. “The Mob thirsts, princess, and I shall slake that thirst.”

 

One feather-light eyebrow twitched up, but still Elsa remained silent.

 

“Legends born in the Arena must surely perish there as well. The fierce Barbarian of the Frozen Northlands and the beloved Gladiatrix of Gallia shall fight today. Quite the pair they are. A striking story, one for the ages no doubt. But the people want to know how the story ends, and I shall provide them the ending they so desperately crave.”

 

Elsa blinked. “You would fight them both?”

 

“Of course I will. And why not? Do you think I am afraid?”

 

A cold smile graced her lips, “I think you have been afraid your whole life.”

 

“I fear nothing!” Hans grated as he pushed off the throne and loomed menacingly over the Imperial Princess. “I will fight them, and I will end them. They will grovel in the dirt before me, and I will take their glory. I will strike their heads from their miserable bodies, and present them to you on silver platters!” he grinned maniacally.

 

Elsa struggled not to recoil from the leering general. “Why waste your time with such theatrics? Do you think grand displays will make me forget your promise to return my sister?”

 

That manic grin instantly turned predatory. “Do not worry, my pet. The Gods themselves have blessed this day, and I promise you that your beloved sister will be returned to you before the sun reaches its zenith, and you shall be mine before it sets!”

 

He turned on his heel, his cape flaring around his sandaled ankles as he stormed out of the room. Elsa glared at his retreating back, not sure if he’s blustering or deadly serious. _He may be both_ , she worried, and that thought was more than just a little unsettling.

 

“My Lady!” the usually reserved and taciturn handmaiden rushed into the Emperor’s audience chamber with speed belied by her stout frame.

 

“What is it, Gerda?” the ice-blond princess inquired.

 

The older woman pressed a hand to her heart, gasping to catch her breath. “My Lady, we found her!”

 

~*~

 

“Hold,” the _Legionaries_ barked, crossing their _pila_ in front of the shaggy-haired physician and his impossibly huge and pale assistant. “None may see the prisoners.”

 

“They’re not prisoners, they’re Gladiators,” Sven stood his ground in front of the armed men. They were young, likely just lowly _milites_ who still practiced with wooden shields. _Probably only shave every two moons, too._

 

“General’s orders,” the _Legionary_ on the left insisted.

 

“No, the General’s orders were to keep them from escaping before he could fight and kill them himself in the arena. I’m here to make sure they’re in fighting form.” Sven smirked, “You wouldn’t want the General emasculated in front of half of Rome because he apparently can only handle injured and weakened foes, do you?”

 

The youthful _Legionaries_ wavered.

 

“It’s your call, friends,” Sven shrugged. “I’m sure Westerguard is a kind and merciful master, known to forgive all those who fail and/or publicly humiliate him.”

 

The _Legionaries_ lifted their _pila_.

 

~*~

 

“You found her?” Elsa asked, rising to her feet. “Where? Where is she?!”

 

“She’s in the _ludus_ ,” Gerda gasped, panting as she straightened her _stola_. “I’m sorry I did not find her sooner. She’s been there the entire time. _She_ is the Gladiatrix of Gallia!”

 

Elsa’s already pale features drained of all color. _Gods, no! He means to kill her! He’s going to kill her!!_ “We must cancel today’s games,” she ordered, wide-eyed. “Immediately!”

 

“I don’t know if we can, my Lady,” Gerda fretted. “There are over fifty thousand citizens already in the arena, and more on their way. We’d trigger a riot and a bloodbath if we stop the games.”

 

Elsa’s anguished eyes slid shut. Gerda was right, plus there was no guarantee Hans wouldn’t react and kill Anna anyway out of spite. No, this problem couldn’t be solved head-on. But that never stopped her before. She opened her eyes, and Gerda smiled at her mistress’ fierce determination.

 

“Summon the _Lanista_. There is work to be done.”

 

~*~

 

“I hope those two aren’t at each other’s throats,” Sven muttered, unlocking the cell door.

 

It creaked open, and Sven paused when he looked inside. Kristoff and the little princess were asleep, propped against each other, heads resting on each other’s shoulders and faces buried in each other’s necks. Sven couldn’t help but chuckle and smile fondly at how ridiculously sweet they looked. But time was against them, so he bustled in with his assistant carrying his supplies right behind him.

 

Kristoff stirred, but Sven calmed him with a cool hand on his shoulder. The assistant unlocked Anna’s collar and manacles while Sven took care of Kristoff’s. But instead of standing and stretching they snaked their arms around each other and held each other close.

 

“I’m glad you two worked things out,” Sven drawled, “but there’ll be time for that later once we get you out of here.”

 

“No,” Anna whispered.

 

Sven didn’t hear her. “The _Legionaries_ they left as guards would wet themselves if you sneezed at them. Ibiscum here will toss them out, and I’ll get you two out of here.” The big assistant flexed his arms and grinned in anticipation.

 

Kristoff leaned back and looked questioningly at Anna. She returned his gaze calmly, releasing him from her arms. He nodded. He understood. She would help them escape, but she was staying. She would fight. And there was no way in the nine hells he’d let her do that alone. “No Sven, we’re not leaving.”

 

“Wait, _what_?!” Sven let out in a strangled whisper. “ _Not_ leaving?!?”

 

“No,” Anna smiled softly up at Kristoff. “This ends today. One way or the other,” she declared.

 

“It’s the other that worries me,” Sven frowned.

 

“You’re the one who didn’t want to wait any longer,” Kristoff pointed out.

 

“ _Lodinkinni skreyja daufi vitskertr!!!_ ” Sven swore sulphurously. “That is NOT what I meant and you know it!!”

 

“I know,” Kristoff agreed. “Doesn’t change anything.”

 

“You’re going to get your revenge even if it kills you?” Sven hissed, looking his oldest friend straight in the eye.

 

“No,” Kristoff replied with more calm than he had a right to possess. “I’m not going to let her face this alone.”

 

Sven smacked his hand over his eyes and dragged it down his face with an agonized groan. “Alright _fine_ ,” he muttered. He grabbed his satchel, yanked out a glass jar, and threw it at his assistant. “As you know, Ibiscum here is one of the best masseuses in the _ludus_. He’ll erase the effects of sleeping on the stone floor in no time.”

 

“What are you doing?” Anna asked.

 

“I’m helping, what’s it look like I’m doing?” Sven snapped, pulling more bottles and pouches of herbs out of his satchel, along with a mortar and pestle, a waterskin, and two clay bowls. “If you two are going to be idiots and not let me sneak you out of here, at least I can give you something that may save your skins.”

 

“What’s going on?”

 

“I’ve learned to just roll with it,” Kristoff grinned.

 

~*~

 

Elsa entered the Imperial ready room, hands folded demurely at her silver-belted waist. The silk of her silver-trimmed _stola_ was dyed a blue so pale it was almost white, and the silver snowflake medallions woven into her braided hair made her look like a living statue of ice.

 

Hans stood on a raised platform in the center of the room, his servants assisting him into his pure white armor. The breast plate, vambrances, and greaves were intricately molded with images of his past military conquests. White-maned lion heads attached a billowing white cape to his pauldrons, and a golden circlet of laurel leaves rested in his auburn hair. He looked every inch an Imperial paragon, ridiculously so, but Elsa knew better than to underestimate his ability to fight or to scheme. She wouldn’t be in this miserable predicament if he wasn’t very good at being a deceptive, conniving snake.

 

“What brings you to the arena, my pet?” he asked.

 

“I am here to witness your triumph,” she said smoothly, choosing to ignore the insult, “and to celebrate it,” she raised her hand, and her handmaiden Gerda and her _praefectus castrorum_ Kai stepped forward. Gerda held a pair of gem-encrusted goblets in her hands while Kai held a skin of the finest Macedonian wine.

 

“You’ve been avoiding the arena for months, and have been less than cooperative with me the entire time,” Hans’ eyes narrowed skeptically. “Forgive me if I seem suspicious, but why are you _really_ here?”

 

“Why would I not be here?” she asked simply, walking around him with a tantalizing sway to her hips. “You promised me my heart’s desire by noon, and much more by the time the sun sets.” She smiled a smile full of promise. “What better moments _are_ there to share with one’s intended?”

 

“What indeed,” Hans murmured, eyes sliding over the smooth lines of her curves. “And what are those?” he nodded towards the handmaiden.

 

“Imperial chalices,” Elsa replied. “They have been handed down from Emperor to Emperor since Augustus himself took power. It is said the gods blessed them with vitality and good fortune. They are used during wedding feasts,” Elsa dropped her eyes and gave him a wickedly chaste blush. “I thought you would enjoy toasting your impending victory with them.”

 

“I would indeed,” Hans’ grin was positively wolfish. Elsa gestured, and Kai and Gerda stepped forward. “But not your wine,” Hans declared.

 

Three sets of eyes looked up at him in dismay. “My wine will not harm you,” Elsa insisted.

 

“Oh Elsa, you’re a fool if you think I trust you,” he grinned as a brief flash of consternation ghosted across her face.

 

“I will take the Emperor’s chalice, but use my own wine. There,” he pointed at the crystal flask on a side table, and Elsa went to fetch it. She poured the wine into the larger Emperor’s chalice with a small, sullen pout on her lips. Hans took the cup and drained it. “Exquisite,” he sighed in satisfaction, smirking at the defeated princess standing before him.

 

He took his _gladius_ and sheathed it at his hip. “Wait for me in the Imperial Box, my pet. I shall deliver your heart’s desire to you, and I wouldn’t want you to miss it.” He turned and strode from the room, spirits high. His servants scurried after him.

 

“I can’t believe you put up with that,” Kai growled.

 

“I can’t believe he fell for it,” Gerda grinned.

 

“But the wine wasn’t poisoned,” Kai frowned.

 

Elsa picked up the Emperor’s chalice and smiled, holding it up so the lamplight glittered on its multitude of precious gems. “No, the _wine_ was not poisoned.”

 

~*~

 

“Last chance to change your minds,” Sven offered.

 

Kristoff and Anna stood facing each other. The combination of the masseuse and whatever concoction Sven gave them worked its magic. Muscles relaxed and pain ebbed and focus was razor-sharp. Anna quirked an eyebrow at him and tilted her head towards the door, inviting him to take Sven’s offer. “Not a chance,” he avowed. Her smile was small, warm, and appreciative.

 

Sven grumbled more obscenities in that foreign tongue of his, then walked to the cell door and flung it open. Outside, four gladiators stood holding a variety of arms and armor. The two _legionaries_ appeared as if their _pila_ alone held them upright. They may be young, but they weren’t fools. Their sallow faces and clammy hands spoke for them. They knew full well the only reason they still lived was because the Gladiators did not wish them dead.

 

Their armor was simple: molded leather chest plates, wide belts, studded leather tassets hanging to their knees, strips of hardened leather wrapped around ankles and left wrists to act as greaves and vambrances. The only embellishments were on their _manica_ : a molded lion’s head and large neck guard adorning Kristoff’s, and overlapping dull metal plates on Anna’s. She also wore her torc and plumed hoplite helmet.

 

Their weapons were also simple but expertly crafted and, thanks to Kristoff, honed to a vicious razor-sharp edge. They carried more than was normal for gladiatorial combat, but they knew this wouldn’t be a fair fight. Anna stared down at the slender _gladius_ in her hand, the leather of her _manica_ creaking as she flexed her arm, the knuckles of her hand turning white as she gripped the hilt in a trembling fist. “Told you to practice more,” Kristoff said.

 

She barked out a short, unamused laugh, “I hope we live long enough to regret my stubbornness.”

 

“Are you ready?”

 

She slanted her eyes over to him and gave him a wicked little grin, “I was _born_ ready.”


	13. Love is an Open Door

The late morning sun dappled the dust at their feet, making it look like blood. Kristoff and Anna stood by the closed portcullis, tightening the straps on their _scuta_ while waiting to be let in. With no _lorarii_ there was no feeding of the lions to whet the mob’s appetite. From the sound of things, they didn’t mind. Even here, partially below-ground, the cacophony of the mob was well-nigh deafening. The leather-lunged _Lanista_ was having a difficult time announcing them, though the competing chants bouncing around the stands clearly indicated they needed no introduction.

 

The portcullis rose, and the mob roared. The fierce Barbarian of the Frozen Northlands and the exotic Gladiatrix of Gallia took the field. They strode a few steps towards the center of the arena, ignoring the guards and refusing to step into the center with the _Lanista_ and risk being surrounded. They looked at each other briefly, and then raised their swordarms in unison.

 

The mob shrieked in riotous approval.

 

The noise faded as the crowd held its breath. They knew what was coming. But the General kept them waiting. The buzz of anticipation started to turn sour in annoyance, then the far gates swung open wide. Two lines of brilliantly armed and armored _legionaries_ marched into the arena, feet falling in perfect synch. Fifty of them snaked around the perimeter, while a trio of chariots rumbled onto the arena floor. Two held _Essedarii_ with short bows while the central one, painted white and gleaming with gold, carried the General himself onto the field. The mob ate up this spectacle like the season’s first figs, chanting his name and crying out their adulation.

 

“I hope he hasn’t underestimated us,” Kristoff grimaced. Anna half-swore, half-prayed beneath her helmet. The _Lanista_ quivered with suppressed rage, then stormed out of the Arena without announcing the general. Hans didn’t feel the loss, as his own trumpeters announced him and his glory with brazen fanfare.

 

~*~

 

“You were very brave to put yourself at risk and bring us news of the Princess, little one. Are you sure you do not wish to stay safe?”

 

“The job’s not done yet, my Lady,” the little chamber slave smiled shyly.

 

“No, it is not. You understand what you are to do?”

 

“Yes, my Lady. It’s for Anna, uh, I mean the Princess.”

 

“Yes, it’s for Anna,” Elsa smiled warmly.

 

~*~

 

There was no avoiding it. Fifty _legionaries_ with House Westerguard sigils on their _scuta_ encircled the two gladiators in a ring of steel 30 paces wide, while the two chariots halted at either end, giving the _Essedarii_ space to use their short bows if called upon. Hans discarded his cape into his retreating chariot, then strode proudly into the ring, his oddly dilated eyes contrasted sharply with his pure white armor, which glowed almost as much as his ruddy face. Six _legionaries_ peeled off to flank him. He drew his _gladius_ and raised it to salute the mob, which shrieked in worshipful appreciation.

 

Kristoff and Anna stood back to back, crouched low and defensive, their large _scuta_ curved around them in a futile attempt at a shield wall. They were grossly outnumbered and under no obligation to fight, so they waited.

 

The General flicked his _gladius_ at them, haughtily demanding they attack. They waited.

 

The flanking _legionaries_ jabbed their _pila_ towards them, trying to lure them out to fight. Still, they waited.

 

The circled _legionaries_ slammed their _pila_ against their _scuta_ , thrumming out an intimidating rhythm that the mob quickly emulating, sending a staccato roar rumbling throughout the colosseum, and still they waited.

 

Hans pointed imperiously at his _Essedarii_ , and they each knocked and fired an arrow at the Gladiators’ feet. _Scuta_ dropped and arrows pinged off the sharpened bronze bottoms. But they waited still.

 

The mob rumbled discontentedly. Hans glanced about nervously. _Why won’t they_ fight, _damn them!!?!_ He snapped his fingers, and two _legionaries_ jumped up from his flanks and rushed the gladiators in unison. With subtle skill instead of their usual grandiose arena style, Kristoff and Anna parried the _pila_ thrusts with their _scuta_ and jabbed their _gladii_ into the _legionaries’_ exposed throats. Blood poured from their ruined necks as they both toppled over and died in unison. The gladiators fell back into formation and waited once more.

 

Two more _Legionaries_ left the ring of steel and flanked their general. The mob cheered briefly for the deaths of two men, but it was hollow, bland, and unsatisfying. Their discontent grew, sullen and grumbling boos echoing from the packed stands.

 

Hans growled, a vein popped up and throbbed in his sweaty forehead as he glared at the immobile gladiators who stood in defiance of him for all to see. His feet inched forward of their own volition, his arms flexed and his _gladius_ held low and ready. “Fight, damn you!” he grated. His glare caught Anna’s eyes behind that ridiculous Greek helmet of hers, and the _futatrix_ had the gall to actually _wink_ at him! _How_ dare _she?!_ his eyes widened and his nostrils flared at the insult. Then she extended the middle finger of her sword hand to give him the _digitus impudicus,_ and then to top it off she tipped her _gladius_ in a deliberately limp-wristed hold and wriggled her pinky at him.

 

He jerked as if she slapped him. That big mongrel brute of hers laughed at him. Even his own _legionaries_ chuckled. _She did not just…._ His vision burned blood-red and he actually frothed at the mouth a bit and howled with rage. He flung his _scutum_ to the side and charged with his _gladius_ raised above his head, gripped in both hands and poised to strike her miserable head from her wretched body.

 

~*~

 

“Men, I won’t lie to you,” the _Lanista_ was solemn as he addressed the gathered gladiators. All wore their armor and bore their weapons, and have since the _Legionaries_ of House Westerguard invaded their _ludus_ and took two of their own captive. They didn’t understand why, but they sure as hell didn’t want to get caught unprepared if it happened again. “I took a gamble, betting that General Westerguard’s patronage would bring fame and prosperity to our _ludus_. But I was wrong.”

 

He wore his old Gladiator armor, which strained over his impressive bulk. “Not only has Westerguard dishonored our _ludus_ by bribing and blackmailing the _lorarii_ , he’s betrayed our loyalty,” he leaned on his long _spathea_ as he spoke. “As you know, he has Kristoff and Aeris in the arena right now, pitted against a small army of his own house _Legionaries_.” There were dark rumblings from the gladiators at that news.

 

The _Lanista_ looked down. “I’ve spoked with the _Imperiatrix Destinatus_ herself, and she has offered us the patronage of the Imperial Family itself.” The gathered gladiators murmured at that. Imperial patronage meant a quicker path to fame, glory, or even freedom.

 

“Obtaining her patronage wipes the stain of my poor decision from our honor. But it does _not_ cleanse the stain of Westerguard’s betrayal,” he growled. “I will _not_ let two of our own be slaughtered. I will _not_ leave them to fight an impossible fight against his men!

 

“I will fight, and I may die, but I _will_ restore our honor. But I am only an old _Rudiarius._ I will ask you to also fight this day. To maybe die this day. But I will not command it. You may walk away now with no dishonor. You may even gain your freedom by doing so. I do not judge, but still I will ask, who will fight this day?”

 

The response was immediate. The Aquitanian Gladiator stepped forward first, followed swiftly by the Beatican. Then the Hibernian stepped forward as well. And the Carthaginian, the Vendelecian, the Pannonian, the Mauritanian, the Galatian, and the rest. Every single Gladiator stepped forward, ready to do battle. They were only eighteen in total, but they stood ready as if the world should tremble before them. Perhaps it did.

 

The _Lanista_ smiled and saluted them all with his _spathea_. “Excellent, my brothers! Now this is what we’ll do…”

 

~*~

 

Hans rushed forward, snarling and swearing, but he wasn’t alone. His six house guards flanked him, forming a wedge intended to plow the two Gladiators into the ground. It would have worked, too, if Kristoff didn’t leap forward to strike before their _scuta_ were fully set. The entire left flank stumbled, and one _Legionary_ lost his head to Kristoff’s _gladius_ before they regrouped.

 

The mob roared. _This_ was the blood sport they craved.

 

Anna blocked Hans’ blow with her _scutum_ , wincing as the vibrations seared down her left arm. She then kicked the bottom of her own _scutum_ so it pivoted up into his face, cracking him squarely in the jaw. Again, the mob cheered. Hans stumbled back, spat blood and teeth, and cackled madly at the taste of his own blood. He howled insanely and charged at her again.

 

He swung wide, and she blocked with her _scutum_. He twisted, and she parried with her _gladius_. His attacks were overpowered and clumsy, not his usual precision grace, but she couldn’t capitalize on his mistakes. His three _Legionaries_ kept her off-guard, forcing her to constantly ward off blows from all sides. One got too close and sliced her thigh with his _pilum_ , and she hissed with pain. “Back off, she’s _mine_ to kill!!” Hans snarled. His men looked surprised, but obeyed.

 

“That’s right, you filthy little _cunna_ , you’re mine to kill!” he spat as he unleashed a vicious string of strikes, forcing her further away from that oversized ape of a Gladiator. He pressed her further, kept her on the defensive, overwhelmed her every attempt at a counter-attack. Her _scutum_ offered some protection, but mostly it slowed her down. His _gladius_ glanced around it, scoring her bicep and thighs with a growing collection of nicks and cuts. He’d lick his _gladius_ to taste her blood, and then strike again. He almost took her head, but all he got was that ridiculous horsehair plume because she stumbled. He kicked her in the hip, and she tumbled over her _scutum_ and lost both her helmet and her _gladius_. The mob shrieked at the sight of her bared face, her piercing blue eyes, her tightly-wound coppery braids. She let go of the straps and rolled away, planted her feet under her, and came up in a defensive crouch. She reached behind her back, gave a sharp tug with both hands, and came out wielding her twin _siccae_.

 

She bared her teeth at him in a feral grin, “My turn.”

 

~*~

 

These weren’t half-starved captives fighting for their lives, but fully trained and battle-hardened _Legionaries_. The sudden attacks by the previously defensive gladiators threw them for a brief moment, but they quickly recovered. They jabbed at Kristoff with their _pila_ and parried his return blows with their _scuta_. Whenever one would fall, another would rush in and join their line. So it was always three against one, no matter how many mangled corpses littered the arena floor.

 

Not only that, the _Legionaries_ had successfully separated the two gladiators. Kristoff growled in frustration, redoubling his efforts to get back to Anna. But the never-ending trio were too damned good at keeping him away!

 

From behind he heard a trilling buzz, so he jumped to the side and crouched low. The _Legionary_ in front of him sprouted feathers from his helmet’s eye slit. His limbs jerked and flailed as he fell dead. _Fighters_ and _archers?_ Kristoff swore under his breath. He turned to briefly look at the source of the arrows, and was shocked to see his Hibernian comrade standing in the chariot, over the body of a very dead _Essedarius_. He grinned, and then loosed arrows at the _Legionaries_ encircling the arena.

 

The _Legionaries_ turned their attention to the rogue gladiator, so they didn’t see the multitude of arena gates open. But they did hear the mob gasp, and they certainly heard the blood-chilling war cries roaring from nearly two dozen throats as the entire _ludus_ rushed the arena floor.

 

Orders were barked, and the _Legionaries_ wheeled about and locked their _scuta_ facing outward. Even though they outnumbered the gladiators by more than two-to-one, they were spread too thin. Plus they were now the ones who were surrounded and being charged by trained fighters screaming in berserk rage. The gladiators focused their attack on the one remaining chariot on the far side of the ring, while the Hibernian in the captured chariot on the near side fired arrows into the backs of the _legionaries_ closest to him, his hand a blur until he exhausted his arrow supply. It didn’t take long for the line to shatter and devolve into a mêlée.

 

Kristoff desperately scanned the arena floor, looking for Anna. He spotted her, just as she fell…

 

~*~

 

Hans lost his flanking _Legionaries_ , but he either didn’t notice or didn’t care. His eyes were red-rimmed black pits and his face was flecked with blood and spittle. “Your fault!” he growled, swinging his _gladius_ in a wide arc aimed at her head. “If you just stayed dead, the glory would be mine. The throne would be _mine_! It’s _all your fault!!_ ”

 

“Keep telling yourself that, you pathetic little _asinus_ ,” she taunted as she ducked. “If you say it often enough, maybe even _you’ll_ believe it.”

 

“Shut UP!!!” he roared, his rage mottled his face and deprived him of his usual deadly skill. But it gifted him with the ability to ignore the growing number of wounds he had collected.

 

He was stronger, but she was faster. She was more agile, but he had a longer reach. She ducked and danced around his strikes, but rarely got close enough to do more than nick him with her _siccae_. It wasn’t long before both were bleeding from a multitude of cuts.

 

Hans jumped back and grabbed a _pilum_ from the corpse of one of his own guards. This gave him even more range, and his blood-etched face grinned with manic glee as he swung and stabbed at her. He forced her back into a completely defensive stance, capable of nothing but blocking blows with her _manica_ or deflecting jabs with her own blades.

 

She barely heard the buzz of loose fletching before she ducked; the arrow hissed over her head close enough for her to feel the breeze of its passage. Hans ignored it, and it bounced off his chest plate without slowing him down. He swung wide and cracked the butt end of his _pilum_ against Anna’s left arm with a bone-splitting snap. She fell to her knees with a shriek, struggling to regain her feet. Hans barked out a mocking laugh as he kicked her broken arm, sending her tumbling to the dirt. Not wasting a moment, he reversed his _pilum_ and raised it high to strike.

 

~*~

 

The roar of the mob shook the very foundations of the colosseum. They were promised blood, and blood was given to them in spades. The last of the _Legionaries_ fell dead with an arrow in his throat. Fifty of the finest House Westerguard had in Rome, spilling their life’s blood into the dust of the arena floor. Of the nineteen gladiators who joined the battle only five still drew breath, and one of them was slowly drowning in his own blood, his lung pierced by a _gladius_.

 

In the midst of the howling maelstrom only three combatants still moved: an injured gladiatrix refusing to yield, a battle-mad general poised to take her life, and a heartsick gladiator running as if Cerberus himself snapped at his heels. Kristoff barreled into Hans without breaking stride, knocking the both of them clear off their feet. The _pilum_ clattered in front of Anna’s face, and she grabbed it in a trembling hand and used it to prop herself up.

 

Kristoff and Hans grappled in the dirt before the general kicked him in the gut and rolled away. He grabbed a nearby _gladius_ and quickly got to his feet. Kristoff rose as well, his hand wrapped around his own _gladius_ as he charged. Hans roared and met the bigger man’s charge, blades clashing a metallic counterpoint to the mob’s throaty shrieks.

 

At first they slashed and parried against each other with skill born from years of practice. But it didn’t take long for skill to be tossed aside like so much dross in favor of brute force. Hans was like an Umbrian bull: madly charging, desperate to dominate his enemies before goring them to death. Kristoff was like a winter storm: fierce and implacable, harnessing the sheer force of his hatred to overwhelm his foe. Hans viciously stabbed at Kristoff’s flank, but the barbarian was bigger, stronger, and faster. He slammed his larger _gladius_ into Hans’ wrist, jarring his smaller weapon from his numbed hand. But before he could follow through the General grabbed a handful of sand and flung it in Kristoff’s face. Kristoff staggered back, and Hans pulled a broad-bladed _pugio_ from his belt and charged.

 

His victory cry devolved into a piercing pain-filled wail. Unseen and ignored, Anna had crept up behind him and swung her _pilum_ at his unprotected shanks, slicing his exposed hamstrings at the knee. Hans tumbled to the ground, crippled and screaming obscenities.

 

Anna tossed the _pilum_ to the ground and grabbed a fistful of the general’s ginger hair while Kristoff strode up and placed his _gladius_ at his throat. The mob cheered and screamed, the wild cacophony coalescing into one word chanted over and over and over again: die, Die, DIE _DIE_!

 

Kristoff was ready, he was _so ready_ to slide his blade across the madman’s throat and end him in a fountain of his own blood. It was his wretched family who destroyed his village and murdered his parents. It was this sorry excuse of a man who slaughtered his comrades and hurt his Anna. Kristoff’s arm trembled, poised to let loose, but his eyes caught Anna’s. Her gaze was calm, soothing even. It questioned, but it did not judge. _Is this really what you want?_

 

He looked down at the general’s face, tear- and bloodstained, pain and disbelief and rage etched into his grossly bloodshot eyes. In it Kristoff saw the bloodbath that was the last ten years of his life. The horrors he had to take into himself to survive. Looking down all he saw was endless blood and death. Looking up he saw light. He saw hope. He saw Anna.

 

Kristoff stepped back and let his _gladius_ drop to his side. Revenge was a fool’s game, and he was done with games. He looked down one last time into the face of all he hated, and deliberately turned his back.

 

Hans’ jerked in Anna’s hold, “Don’t you _dare_ turn your back on me, slave!” he spat. Anna shoved his head away and stepped in front of him. She held up her _sica_ , looked him straight in the eye, and winked. He snarled, literally frothing at the mouth at the insult. Then she too turned her back to him, and the two Gladiators walked away.

 

“Don’t you DARE turn your backs to your future Emperor!! Come back and fight me! FIGHT ME!!” They left him howling in the dirt, and ignored his pitiful ranting.

 

They walked towards the portcullis, slowly because of their wounds. Anna faltered once, but Kristoff caught her under her uninjured arm. He looked down at her, concerned. He thought to pick her up and carry her out, but knew her stubborn self wouldn’t allow it. She smiled up at him, her face so full of relief and pride and love. He didn’t pick her up, but he did gather her into his arms, tucked her head under his chin, and held her close. They stood together for a brief moment, letting the thunder and roar of the mob wash over them.

 

The portcullis opened, and a small army of workers and physicians rushed out to gather the wounded and collect the dead gladiators. The _Legionaries_ were left behind and their General was left writhing in the dust, chewing threw his own flesh in impotent rage. Once they were done, Kristoff and Anna walked out of the arena for the last time.

 

Hans was left alone, surrounded by the corpses of his men. He couldn’t stand, but that didn’t keep him from thrashing about and shrieking out his rage and humiliation. The mob’s cheers turned to jeers of ridicule. Some even threw rotten vegetables at him, ratcheting up his rage to a fevered pitch.

 

He screamed, and then he heard a noise behind him that chilled his blood. Turning, he saw the low gates opening, and what little blood was left in him drained from his face. “No, you can‘t do this to me! I am a _Legatus Legionis_! I am a High-blood Citizen of Rome! You can’t treat me like some commoner!”

 

But the gates opened anyway, and the _ludus’_ contingent of dark-maned lions stalked onto the field. A few went for the easy pickings of the dead _Legionaries_ , but a pair of lionesses saw the struggling general and pounced.

 

His shrieks echoed across the arena floor, then cut off abruptly.

 

The mob cheered and applauded, their thirst for blood finally sated for the moment.

 

Elsa stood in the Imperial box, letting the noise of the mob swirl about her. She glanced down and nodded approvingly at the low gates. Tucked inside, the little chamber slave released the gate controls and smiled at a job well done.

 

~*~

 

“You really need to stop coming here,” Sven drawled.

 

“But the physicians here give out sweets if you’re good,” Anna chuckled wearily. She and Kristoff sat side-by-side on the examination table in the infirmary. The other four tables were occupied by the few surviving gladiators, the _Lanista_ among them. Sven and his assistants worked furiously sewing up cuts, setting bones, and cleaning up the wounded. The Beatican would likely lose his left leg at the knee, and the Aquitanian will need a patch to cover his gaping right eye socket, but they were in better shape than the fifteen gladiators in the back room laid out on slabs awaiting proper burial.

 

“No sweets today, little Aeris. Drink this,” he gave her a cup heavy with willow bark, oak gall, and nettle. She drank it, pulled a face, and shuddered at the taste.

 

“You do that on purpose,” she accused.

 

“Of course I do,” he smiled. “If the medicine tasted good, I’d think you’re an idiot for getting injured just to taste it. If it tastes bad, I know you’re just insane for getting injured. You wouldn’t want me to think my friends are idiots, would you?”

 

“Is this another one of those ‘roll with it’ moments?” Anna asked her tablemate wearily.

 

“Oh yes,” Kristoff smiled.

 

“Hush, you,” Sven muttered at him, then turned back to Anna. “You’re lucky he only broke one of your arm bones. Now, breathe through your nose,” he wrapped gentle fingers firmly around her wrist and elbow. “On three. One…” and he wrenched the broken bone back into alignment. Her eyes bulged in shock and she hissed out a curse between clenched teeth, but he quickly set the arm between two slats of wood and tied it securely in place with strips of clean linen.

 

She grimaced a smile at him, and he gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze before washing his hands and moving over to work on Kristoff. Anna scanned his burly arm, looking for a spot not covered in cuts or salves. She found one, and wearily rested her head against it. Kristoff gently took her tiny hand in his massive one and stroked his thumb over her knuckles.

 

Sven finished stitching a shallow cut on Kristoff’s thigh when four _Legionaries_ ducked under the arched doorway of the infirmary. “ _Daufi hrafnasueltir_ , not this _merda_ again!” Sven swore as he planted himself firmly in front of his patients.

 

“Peace, physician. We mean no harm to you or your charges,” their leader explained. “We were sent to secure the Imperial Princess.”

 

“Kai?” Anna blinked, staring at the old soldier.

 

“Aye, your Imperial Highness,” he saluted and gave a curt bow. “Your sister misses you terribly, my Lady. Are you ready to rejoin her?”

 

“Elsa,” Anna breathed, her eyes misting. Kristoff squeezed her hand, and she looked up at him. His smile was gentle and encouraging, but his eyes failed to hide his pain. Still, he nudged her forward. “No,” she whispered, then spoke up. “No, I am not.”

 

“My Lady?” Kai asked, puzzled.

 

She gingerly slid down off the table and walked over to the _Lanista_. His shaggy orange hair stuck out from between the strips of bandages wound around his head, and his own left arm was also splinted and tied down. “You’re a good man, master _Lanista_ , and I would not deprive your _ludus_ of two of your finest without just compensation. How much will you accept for both Kristoff and Sven?”

 

“You’re… asking?”

 

“Yes,”

 

“I have a choice?” he smiled hopefully.

 

“Of course you have a choice,” she smiled warmly at him and patted his uninjured arm. “I could always feed you to your lions.”

 

The _Lanista_ barked out a laugh, then winced and clutched at his bruised ribs. “Take them, my Lady, and go see your sister. We can discuss compensation later.”

 

Anna turned and looked back at her puzzled friends, her eyes shining bright.

 

~*~

 

Elsa sat in her father’s bedchamber, by his side, waiting. To be honest, she was quite sick of waiting. The last three months felt like the world’s worst waiting game, one she was ecstatic was over. She’d like to think she won, but gazing at her father’s withered face she knew the cold, hard truth: it wasn’t a game, and it wasn’t done until you are three days in the grave. And even then it wasn’t done.

 

Doesn’t mean it didn’t need to be played.

 

 _At least the General is gone_ , she thought quietly. That thought would feel more satisfying once she had her sister back.

 

As if the thought summoned her, Gerda opened the chamber doors and she was there. Her Anna. She was standing in the doorframe in all her grimy blood-stained glory, a disheveled, bandaged, frazzled mess. Elsa tossed decorum out the nearest window and ran to her. She gathered her into her arms and held on as if she would never let her go. But she did let go, a little, when Anna hissed a bit then chuckled at her broken arm.

 

“You were in the _ludus_ this whole time?” Elsa demanded.

 

“Yeah,”

 

“And _you’re_ the Gladiatrix of Gallia?”

 

“Um, yeah I guess,” Anna bit her lip, embarrassed.

 

“And you got your arm broken and the gods know what else done to you, for _months_?”

 

“It’s been that long?”

 

“Why?”

 

“I was trying to protect you from Hans. It _was_ kinda my fault he got so close and all...”

 

“Wait, you did all this, endured so much, sacrificed yourself… for me?” Elsa breathed in disbelief.

 

“Well, yeah Elsa. You’re my sister. I love you.”

 

Elsa’s eyes misted over and she smiled so brightly it lit up the entire room. She embraced her sister once more, careful this time not to jostle her injured arm. Anna held her tightly too, so happy to finally be home. She slowly opened her eyes. Kristoff and Sven were standing in the entryway, watching the two sisters with gentle smiles on their rough faces. Sven leaned over and elbowed Kristoff, who elbowed him back and smiled wider without ever taking his eyes off of Anna. That gentle, lopsided smile touched her deeply, warmed her to the very bottom of her soul.

 

The general was dead. Her sister was safe. Kristoff and Sven were free. All of her promises were kept. Anna felt almost giddy with relief. But something was missing, and that thought popped her euphoric bubble. “Elsa, where’s Poppa?”

 

Elsa squeezed her sister tightly for a brief moment, and then stepped back. “Poppa’s…. not well, little Aeris,” she murmured sadly, turning to face the sickbed on the opposite end of the room where Emperor Agdarius rested.

 

Anna gasped, her good hand coming up to cover her mouth as she took several involuntary steps towards her ailing father. She spun around and strode back to the entryway. “Sven can heal him. He’s Kristoff’s friend, and he’s the best physician in the _ludus_. You can heal him, right Sven?” she implored, eyes wide with fear and hope.

 

Sven looked questioningly at the taller, paler sister. She nodded encouragingly to him, so he walked over to the dozing monarch’s bed. The Emperor appeared to be resting peacefully, though small tremors fluttered through his wizened limbs. Sven placed a gentle hand against his throat and leaned over to smell his faltering breath. His pulse was thready, and his breathing shallow, rattling hollowly in his emaciated ribcage. Sven picked up the old man’s hand to get a closer look at the oddly discolored stripes on his fingernails, and then gently set it back down on his chest.

 

He sighed, and looked at the two princesses hovering at the end of the bed. One was poised and regal while the other was bloody and disheveled, but they looked so much alike in their worry. “I’m sorry,” Sven murmured, shaking his head. “He’s suffering the effects of Autumn Crocus poisoning.”

 

“Poison?!” Anna gasped. “How!?”

 

“It’s usually given in a liquid like water, but his particular symptoms come from small doses over time. It has a faint but distinct odor and flavor. He should’ve been able to notice it if it was in water.”

 

 _The wine,_ Elsa thought angrily. _It must’ve been in the wine Hans gave to him!_ She smiled grimly, vindicated that she poisoned the General in turn with mandrake root _._

 

She shook her head slightly and returned to more pressing matters. “Is there an antidote?” she inquired. Sven shook his head sadly. Anna bowed her head and clenched her good fist at her side. Elsa inhaled slowly. “How long?”

 

“Not long,” Sven looked sadly at the old monarch. “To be honest, I’m surprised he’s still alive. It’s like he’s fighting to hang on, like he’s waiting for something. Or someone.” Sven looked back to the sisters. “I can give him something to clear his mind and ease his pain, if you wish.”

 

Elsa nodded. A small sob escaped Anna’s lips, and her sister placed a comforting arm around her shoulders. Sven dribbled a sweet-smelling liquid into the dying Emperor’s mouth, helped him drink some water, then backed away and walked past Gerda to the door where Kristoff stood. The big gladiator looked on sadly.

 

The Emperor opened his eyes, and for the first time in what felt like forever they were clear and aware. “My little _aeris_ ,” he whispered, smiling. “I knew you would find her and bring her home safe, little _nyx_.”

 

“I’m home now, Poppa, and the evil man who did this to us is gone,” Anna gripped his frail hand gently. “We can go back to being a family again.”

 

“I’m sorry, my little ones,” he closed his eyes. “I’m so sorry I didn’t protect you. But it looks like you did a fine job protecting yourselves, and our Empire,” he smiled. “I’m so proud of you both.”

 

He closed his eyes, exhausted. Anna continued to grip his left hand while Elsa picked up and cradled his right. “I’m dying, my daughters. When a man sees his end, he wants to know that there has been some purpose to his life. How will the world speak my name in years to come? I may have failed as an Emperor, but with you two I’ve succeeded as a father.”

 

“You have not failed, Poppa,” Elsa soothed. “You are a brilliant Emperor.”

 

“I hear the gods calling me home,” he said softly. “I don’t want to leave you, but I know now that you’ll be fine.” He opened his eyes. They were glazed and focused somewhere beyond the edge of the bed. His face filled with wonder, and then he smiled a soft, peaceful smile. “You’re right, my love,” he whispered. “You were always right. They’ll be fine. They’ll be just fine…”

 

That gentle, peace-filled smile lingered on his face long after he closed his eyes and let go of his last breath.

 

~*~

 

The following morning dawned cloudless and bright. The sunlight shone through the vines and branches of the imperial gardens, dappling the stone walkways in golden light. Kristoff walked beside the _Imperiatrix Destinatus_ , the two of them alone among the blossoms. His tunic was made of the finest spun linen dyed a deep brown, though he felt oddly underdressed without his worn leather chest plate and _manica_. “So you’re _the_ Imperial Princess.” It wasn’t a question.

 

The heir to the throne of the Roman Empire laughed softly. “Not impressed, I take it,” Anna grinned. She’d washed the blood and dust of the arena away, replaced it with a pale rose _stola_ , belted with thin chains of gold around her waist and beneath her breasts, with matching gold chains woven into her softly-curled copper locks. A matching length of silk cradled her broken arm, which she absently scratched. “It feels so surreal.”

 

“Give it time,” he said softly, tucking a loose curl tenderly behind her ear.

 

“Perhaps,” she sighed. She captured his hand in hers and walked on, holding it close to her. He didn’t seem to mind that at all. “Rather inconvenient, though,” she chuckled. “Makes it harder for me to do my job.”

 

“Protecting your sister.”

 

“Protecting my sister,” she agreed. “Her being Empress now makes it even harder, and more critical." She stopped and turned to face him, though she looked down at their clasped hands. “I have a duty to fulfill and a promise to keep.”

 

“I know,” he said, his voice strained with pent-up emotion as he cupped her cheek with his other hand. “That’s why I won’t ask you to come with me.”

 

She squeezed his hand tighter and leaned into the warmth of his calloused palm. “You’re leaving,” she said, calm despite the storm swirling inside her heart.

 

“Aye,” he murmured apologetically. “I too have a promise to keep.”

 

“I know,” she trembled. “That’s why I won’t ask you to stay.”

 

He tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t form for him, couldn’t push past the lump lodged in his throat. Luckily for him Sven turned the corner and joined them, followed by the Empress herself. Anna let go of his hand and gave a small bow to her sister. Unsure of what to do, Kristoff emulated her. The Empress embraced her sister, and then both sisters turned their blue-eyed gazes to the obviously uncomfortable Kristoff.

 

“My sister has told me a great many things about her time in the _ludus_. Among them is that I have you to thank for keeping her safe during her captivity,” the Empress smiled up at the big gladiator.

 

“She’s too modest,” Kristoff said, blushing awkwardly. “She’s a feisty one on her own. I just guarded her back.”

 

Elsa smiled fondly. “And you are too modest as well, noble Gladiator. Your deeds alone would merit you a reward rich enough to make princes weep. But Anatonia tells me that this is a more fitting reward,” she reached into the folds of her pale blue _stola_ and pulled out a wooden _gladius_ , simply made yet intricately carved.

 

“A _rudis_?” Kristoff breathed.

 

“Your _rudis_ , Gladiator,” Elsa corrected him. “Earned honorably and given respectfully, compliments of the _Lanista_.” She extended the hilt toward him, and he took it with awe and gratitude. “My addition, as you can see,” she indicated the carving near the pommel, “removes all stains of _infamia_. In the eyes of Rome, you were never a slave of the arena.” She touched his shoulder. “You truly are a free man. You both are,” she smiled at Sven, who beamed with pride.

 

She turned and took two silver medallions from Anna, who was grinning warmly at her friends. “And these signify that you both are Friends of the Imperial Family.” She placed one around Kristoff’s neck, the other on Sven’s. The medallions were the size of their palms, with an intricately-sculpted snowflake surrounded by a laurel crown on one side, and a stylized flame and eagle on the other. “Show this to any Imperial garrison, any _Legionary_ , any loyal citizen, and you will be given aid and respite wherever Rome holds sway.”

 

Kristoff gripped his _rudis_ tightly and breathed. _Free_ , he thought. _Finally_ free _! It doesn’t feel real._ But there he was, holding his _rudis_ in his hand. He smiled at Sven, then bowed his head to the royal sisters in gratitude.

 

“So what happens now?” Sven asked.

 

“Several things,” Anna replied. “House Westerguard has much to answer for. They’ll be lucky if they survive with their heads attached to their shoulders, but I wouldn’t put money on that.”

 

“Nor would I,” Elsa grinned. “In addition, all slaves in the _ludus_ will be freed. I have spoked to the _Lanista_. Under the terms of my patronage, only _autocrati_ or criminals condemned _ad ludum gladiatorium_ shall be gladiators. Even the stable and kitchen slaves shall be slaves no more, but paid laborers.”

 

Kristoff saw Anna’s hand in this, and he looked to the princess. She stood tall next to her sister, yet blushed when she caught his gaze. She truly was an honorable person. He smiled warmly at her, and bowed to both sisters. “Thank you,” he said simply.

 

“As Empress, I thank you for your service,” she said. She reached out and placed a slender hand on his arm. “As a sister, I can never thank you enough,” she said softly, eyes brimming with gratitude.

 

He didn’t know what to say, so he nodded.

 

“Gerda and Kai are arranging for supplies for your journey. I shall take the physician to them in the courtyard to oversee the final outfitting.” Sven started at being addressed, but bowed outrageously to the Empress. She smiled, and the two of them walked back into the compound.

 

Anna and Kristoff were alone again in the garden, neither wanting to leave. Neither wanting to disturb the fragile twists of fate that held them together and would shortly tear them apart. Kristoff stared down at the wooden _rudis_ in his hand, the symbol of his hard-fought freedom from the bloody slave life he hated.

 

“Your sister is very kind,” he finally said.

 

“Please,” Anna scoffed. “You earned that on your own and you know it,” she smiled fondly, trailing her fingertips down his arm. She looked down, lacing their fingers together while chaining her emotions as best she could. It felt like swallowing hot coals. “When will you leave?”

 

“Today,” he sighed, throat tight. She squeezed their intertwined fingers and rested her head on his shoulder. “As soon as Sven finishes saddling the horses you’ve given us. Again, you’re too kind.”

 

“It’s the least we can do to make up for over ten years of wrongs.”

 

“You owe me no debts, Aeris,” he rumbled. He felt her smile and tighten her grip on his hand. “Still,” he cleared his throat, clinging desperately to decorum. “It’ll make getting home easier.”

 

“How long will it take to get there?” she whispered.

 

“Only a few months, if your sister’s maps are accurate,” he said shakily, tucking another stray lock of hair behind her ear, ghosting his fingertips down her neck. _Only a lifetime_. “It’s almost Summer, so traveling should be easier. We should make it home before the first big snows hit. I-,” he half-smiled, “I actually miss the snow.”

 

“I hope it’s everything you remember and more. You deserve it,” she said as she fought the tightness in her own throat. “You deserve to be in your own place, with your own people. To be h-happy with…” she wiped at her eyes and stepped back with a watery smile, then dropped into a sword stance. “I’ll lay off of the _siccae_ and keep practicing with the _gladius_ , like you said,” she half-laughed, a small sob slipping past her futile attempts at stoicism.

 

That sob broke him. He stepped forward just as she did the same and sealed his lips over hers, wrapping one arm around her waist and burying his other hand in her hair as she snaked her good arm around his neck, holding him as close as she possibly could. He poured his entire soul into that single breathless kiss, succumbing to her endless fire as it enveloped him, scorched him, marked him. Her hair absorbed his tears when he buried his face in her neck, and he breathed words of selfless love and undying longing into the shell of her ear. Her breath whispered around his neck as her own ardent words of devotion stirred his unbound hair. Their words combined and danced about them, igniting the air in a crackling maelstrom, spinning and soaring until the energy released burrowed beneath their skin, indelibly twining their spirits in bonds fainter than gossamer yet stronger than spider silk.

 

The sun bathed them in golden benediction, but neither saw it. Time had no meaning in that brief, endless moment. He still had a promise to keep, and she still had a duty to fulfill. But for that one sliver of eternity they simply held each other close, breathed each other’s air, shared each other’s space, cradled each other’s soul.

 

With hearts heavier than lead they reluctantly parted. Kristoff’s hands slid up her back and around to cup her face, and he leaned down for one last kiss. Her hand gently covered his, and held on as he slowly backed away. It eventually dropped to her side, and she seared him into her memory as he turned and walked out of the garden.

 

She tried to be like her sister. She held onto words like Imperial, Decorum, and Grace, wrapped them around her like a cloak. But she wasn’t her sister; she was and always will be Anna. With a trembling lip she turned and bolted from the garden and ran all the way through the Imperial Palace, _stola_ billowing behind her until she stood on the balcony overlooking the courtyard where two large men pulled themselves up on their horses.

 

“You’re both idiots, you know that,” Sven muttered.

 

Kristoff looked up and saw her again. She stood proudly with her unbound hair blowing in the breeze like a war banner. Her eyes gleamed, yet no tears fell. She was a living fire, a coppery beacon that he knew would always burn and beckon for him, would forever light his way and warm his soul until the end of his days and beyond. “Yes, yes we are,” he answered softly.

 

They gathered the reins of their packhorses, then wheeled about. The guards opened the north gates, and they began their long journey home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no, i’m not done yet, i swear! Put the torches away…


	14. Epilogue 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s note: i’m a bit emotional about this. Most of my previous writing was RPG-based, so an actual ‘end’ is a novelty. There's one more smutty epilogue after this (which has nothing to do with the plot so you're welcome to skip it if that's not your thing), as well as a little drabble. i'm currently working on a sequel, but that won't start showing up for a month or three.

Kristoff’s arms flexed and shoulders heaved, and the heavy log bounced to the snowy ground. He rolled his shoulder and neck to work out a kink, and then turned to his friend. “Thanks for that,” he said to the curly-haired man sprawled out and wheezing over the other end of the log.

 

“You owe me big time, _lǫngubak_!” Sven gasped and watched Kristoff as he bent down to retrieve his adze and started peeling the bark from the log.

 

“Stop complaining. I’ll get you a snow fox the next time I go hunting.”

 

“Really?” he perked up. “That’s great. I could use the pelt as a gift. Suqi has a fondness for them. But _why_ are we out here again, in the dead of Winter, when we could be sitting by the fire in the tavern?”

 

“The log’s too big for me to haul on my own.”

 

“That’s what reindeer are for, _daufi_. And that’s not what I meant and you know it.”

 

The adze in Kristoff’s hand slowed for a moment, and then he continued with his work. “Sometimes I really don’t like you,” Kristoff grumbled.

 

“Kristoff,” Sven sighed. “We’ve been home less than two months, and every moment of free time you have you come here, alone, and work on this… this…” he gestured at the skeleton of keel and spars spread out on the icy ground.

 

“It’s called a boat, Sven,”

 

“Y’know, sometimes I really don’t like you either,” Sven huffed. Kristoff grinned and kept working. Sven watched him patiently, waiting for an answer.

 

Kristoff straightened and sighed, “It keeps me busy.”

 

“Busy?” Sven snorted. “The village keeps us hopping all day!”

 

“You more than me. They’re happy to have such a skilled physician,”

 

“Stop changing the subject. Why are you doing this?”

 

Kristoff rubbed absently at the cold, aching emptiness twisted tight in his chest. “It keeps me busy,” he murmured. “Unlike you, I _do_ have free time, and it’s driving me insane! Every time I sit idle I feel as if giant hooks are ripping me apart! I look south and I--” he drew a deep breath, pressed the heel of his hand against his chest, and let it out. “I know, I _know_ I’m still needed here. So if I’m building,” he looked to the south so intently it seemed as if he was trying to gaze all the way back to Rome. “If I’m building, I can fool myself into thinking I’m getting closer to her, going back for her. That when the time comes when I’m not needed, I can get back to her faster.”

 

“Suqi thinks you should stay.”

 

“Suqi’s welcome to her own opinions.”

 

“She thinks you should marry one of the village girls.”

 

“We already know Suqi makes poor decisions. She likes you, doesn’t she?”

 

“ _Bacraut_ ,” Sven swore at him, smiling.

 

Kristoff gazed out over the water at the orange smudge of the sun on the southern horizon. “What do you think?”

 

Sven walked over and placed a hand on Kristoff’ shoulder. “I think you’re an idiot either way,” He gave him a cheeky grin. “But I’d think you’re a fool if you didn’t try to get back to her.”

 

Kristoff smiled, grateful his friend understood. “I’ll bring you two foxes.”

 

“Two’s good. Any more and she’ll think I’m proposing.”

 

~*~

 

The Lady Anatonia Ustrina sat on a low bench in the Imperial Gardens. The early spring sunlight was warm on her skin, though she barely felt it. She barely felt anything anymore, other than nerves wound tighter than harp strings and an aching cold emptiness in her heart that she rubbed at absently as she gazed to the north.

 

The last two months had been amazingly quiet. The last of Westerguard’s cronies had finally been rooted out and disposed of. The House itself was no more, its holdings forfeited to the throne in punitive recompense for the crimes of its youngest son, the surviving scions stripped of their rank and titles. It took nearly eight months to weed out their supporters from the Imperial Palace. Anna and Gerda were instrumental to the purge, tirelessly seeking the traitors out and eliminating them. Surprisingly, the little chamber slave was the most ardent and effective of searchers.

 

The Empress entered the gardens and saw her beloved sister sitting in their favorite spot, but with one of her _siccae_ resting on her lap. Concerned, she gestured to her attendants. The three heavily-armed and armored _Legionaries_ of the Imperial Heart Guard fanned out to check the perimeter while the three handmaidens took seats on benches close enough to help but far enough away to offer privacy. The _Legionaries_ certainly looked intimidating, but the handmaidens were the true defense. To the outside world they were priestesses of Bellona in service to the spiritual needs of the throne. In reality they were deadly bodyguards fiercely loyal to Elsa herself. Two score women, each a weapon in her own right, all carefully vetted by Gerda and trained by Anna and Kai to protect the Empress from all threats. Hans had left deep scars, there would be no repeat performance.

 

The Empress sat beside her sister, who didn’t stir from her contemplation of her blade. Elsa simply sat, letting her presence soothe what words might aggravate. Anna’s time in the _ludus_ changed her, even if she denied it with a wave and a laugh. She was quieter than before, and avoided crowds instead of rushing into them. Her bubbly laughter grew more forced, and she blinked less and less. As the months wore on she threw herself into the task of removing the Westerguards with a single-minded obsessiveness that was as effective as it was disturbing.

 

Then there were the nightmares. Anna would wake in the middle of the night, sweat-drenched and sobbing, and race across the hall to the Imperial chamber and curl up in Elsa’s bed like they did as children. Elsa would tuck her in and stroke her hair until she fell back to sleep.

 

She refused to talk about it. She smiled. She laughed. She carried on her duties perfectly. But more and more often, Elsa saw her lost in thought, rubbing at an ache in her chest, gazing to the north.

 

“I almost killed a man today.” Anna said abruptly, her gaze locked on her _sica_.

 

Elsa blinked, startled. “You found another Westerguard supporter?”

 

“No,” Anna replied, her voice hollow. “The man was innocent.”

 

Elsa laid her hand on Anna’s wrist, shocked at how tense she was. “Tell me what happened.”

 

“I was in the stables,” Anna began, her voice eerily monotone. “A farmer was delivering a load of fresh fodder. He had a wagon full of grain sacks pulled by a pair of mules. He was just doing his job. He had a whip, a-and when he c-cracked it at the mules…” Anna shuddered and stared blankly ahead. When the whip cracked, something snapped inside of her. She pulled her _siccae_ and tackled the poor man, scaring him so much he pissed himself. It took four _Legionaries_ to pull her off, and a fifth to hurry the poor peasant along and pay him for his troubles. Once she had calmed down, three of the four _Legionaries_ needed physicians to stitch up their wounds.

 

“It was the whip, and the milling throng of people in the street outside the stable gates, and the shouting of the street merchants. I-I thought I was back in the arena,” she looked back down at her _sica_ , grasped it in a trembling hand, and hastily put it back down in her lap. “This is the first time I hurt someone, but isn’t the first time I’ve felt like this.”

 

Elsa squeezed her arm comfortingly, “How long has this been happening to you?”

 

Anna was silent for a long time, looking down at their hands in her lap resting on top of her blade. Elsa didn’t press her; she merely waited and held her arm, stroking it with her cool fingers. Finally Anna whispered, “Almost a year.”

 

“Oh Anna…”

 

“The first time was the day we ended House Westerguard,” Anna continued. “It was only a week after we killed Hans. At first I thought I was just tired and overreacting, so I slept it off. But it kept happening, and sleep stopped working,” Anna’s breath shuddered in her chest. “It made it worse, actually. The nightmares started. Three or four days of them each time. You helped me through a lot of them,” Anna smiled shyly up at Elsa, who smiled back warmly and tucked a lock of coppery hair behind her ear. “But they still came.

 

“And then I started having other dreams. Dreams of him,” Anna’s eyes softened, and Elsa saw the first glimmer of light in them she had seen in a very long time. “Sometimes it was him, other times it was the lights in the sky in his homeland that he told me about. Sometimes both,” she smiled wistfully. “I knew he was guarding my dreams, even though he’s not here. I need these dreams of him to keep me going.”

 

Her eyes drifted shut, and Elsa shivered at the raw pain that etched her sister’s face. “But then it started taking longer for his dreams to come. Days turned into weeks, and I’d be jumping at my own shadow by the time they finally did come. It… it’s like I’m losing him all over again.

 

“And now I almost killed an innocent man. A loyal citizen just doing his job. Elsa, I can’t…” tears filled her eyes. “I’m losing him again, and I-I can’t …”

 

“Do you remember that Greek legend our tutors taught us when we were children?” Elsa asked. Anna shook her head. “That in the beginning, humans used to have four arms, four legs, and a head with two faces?” Anna nodded, though her eyes never left the hem of her pale green _stola_. “Their power rivaled the gods, who cried out for their destruction. But Jupiter instead split humans into two beings: two arms, two legs, one face, and half a soul. We are incomplete without this other half of ourselves, our power broken, our lives doomed to misery, searching for our lost half. Our soulmate.”

 

Elsa placed a gentle hand on Anna’s shoulder, “You are lucky, little Aeris. You found your soulmate, yes?”

 

Anna nodded, eyes misting.

 

“And yet you still feel broken, doomed to misery.” It wasn’t a question.

 

Anna’s mouth worked silently, nothing coming out. A single tear escaped her eye and slid down her face. “I miss him _so much_ , Elsa!” she husked out hoarsely. “I close my eyes and I see him and I know he’s not here and it _hurts_!” she hunched over and clutched her chest. “I don’t care that he’s not Roman and not high blood and that everyone says he’s not suitable for the _Imperiatrix Destinatus_! All I know is that I love him, and he’s _not here_!”

 

Elsa gathered her into her arms and held her close. Her beloved sister, who was always the brave one, the strong one, the selfless and giving one, trembled and sobbed quietly into her shoulder. “Then you know what you must do, little Aeris.”

 

“But I _can’t_!” Anna sniffled. “I can’t leave you! I love you, and I have a duty to you and the Empire. Poppa taught us that duty comes before everything else.”

 

“Poppa also taught us that duty to the gods was a priority, too,” Elsa smiled. “The gods saw fit to let you find your other half. Who am I to stand in the way of their will?”

 

“The Empress of Rome.”

 

“Yes, and as Empress I have ordered a diplomatic mission to Germania and Belgica provisioned and ready to leave in two days. Those two provinces have been fractious, and need a firmer Imperial presence. I also have the maps our cartographers prepared for your two friends.” Elsa smiled slyly, “I believe a woman of your unique talents is just what this mission requires. And since you will be in that part of the world anyway…”

 

Anna gasped, “D-do you mean it?” and Elsa couldn’t help but smile at the hope and love brimming in her sisters blue eyes.

 

“I mean it, little Aeris. And, as the Empress of Rome, I command you to find your other half and pull yourselves together, and not to return to Rome until you can bring me at least half a dozen nieces and nephews to dote upon.”

 

Anna giggled around her tears, and wrapped her beloved sister in a fierce embrace.

 

~*~

 

The days were shorter up in the frozen northlands. Colder too, but with her fur-lined clothes the cold didn’t bother her. She and her companion, the former little chamber slave, spent the last three weeks on this side of the sea, searching for the right village. In them she spotted several tall men topped with a thatch of unkempt blond hair, but none were her Kristoff. Still, she knew she was close. She didn’t know how she knew, but she didn’t care. She could feel it, like a hand poised to touch her back. She could smell it, like the scent of the air right before it rains.

 

The months traveling with the diplomatic mission did wonders for Anna. She didn’t know if it was because she was away from the crowds, or because she moved with purpose again, but the soul-compressing weight of her sadness and fear melted away and she could finally breathe again. The Mission _was_ crowded, what with two entire Legions marching with them. Nor did Anna travel alone. The former little chamber slave volunteered to accompany the Lady on her travels. He was quite determined to help the Imperial Princess find her true love, as he put it with blushing cheeks and a toothy grin. So when the Mission reached the northern frontier, she and the little slave, now companion, struck out on their own to head to the Frozen North.

 

Neither she nor her companion spoke the native tongue, but they still managed to barter or pay for lodging at each of the tiny villages they stayed in. The people here in the Frozen North were generous and kind, and their food was simple and hearty. The houses were of wood and thatch, solidly made and surprisingly cozy. _Just like he described_ , she thought wistfully.

 

They rounded a bend in the narrow game trail they followed and came across another tiny village. The sun was already dipping below the southern horizon, so Anna nudged her horse forward and they walked down into the village. There were quite a few people out and about despite the late hour. They must be used to getting things done in the darkness that came a few hours after noon. Men sat on log stumps mending nets or sharpening long saws. Women carried water or tended to children who played happily in the spaces between houses. Men and women alike gathered in groups, talking or sharing food and drink. They looked up at Anna and her companion as they entered the town, wary but not hostile. Anna made her way towards the largest of the buildings with the most people gathered about it, hoping it was an inn or temple where she could barter for a night’s rest and fodder for their horses.

 

She dismounted gratefully and straightened her clothes, preparing to speak to the town’s elders when she saw a mop of curly brown hair standing next to a raven-haired beauty. A mop she recognized. “Sven?” she breathed in disbelief. “Sven!” she called out.

 

The mop turned and looked sharply at her, and a huge smile split his now-bearded face. “Aeris!” he boomed, holding his arms wide to catch her in a huge bear hug. She laughed as he stepped back. “Look at you! Finally traded those silks of yours for something better.”

 

She grinned at that, and opened her mouth to speak but was cut off by the dark-haired woman at Sven’s side speaking curtly in a language she didn’t know. “<Who is this woman?>”

 

“Ah, my manners!” Sven konked himself in the forehead with his free hand. “Aeris, this is Suqi, one of our Village’s leaders and best hunters. <Suqi, this is Anatonia Ustrina, a leader among her own people as well. But we call her Aeris.>”

 

“<Kristoff’s Aeris?>” Suqi sniffed, giving Anna a quick and very thorough visual inspection, taking in the multitude of hilts sticking out from behind her back and belt. Anna nodded in greeting, and met the woman’s challenging glare with a calm stare of her own, hands held loosely at her side as if to say she would not start any trouble but she could handle herself if trouble did start. “<She’ll do nicely for our Kristoff.>” she declared with a small smile.

 

Anna smiled in return, not knowing what was said but recognizing that she passed some sort of test. She jolted when she recognized one word in the woman’s speech. She gripped Sven’s arms hard and gazed up at him with piercing, pleading blue eyes. “Is…. Is Kristoff here too?”

 

He couldn’t help but smile at the fragile hope all but quivering about her entire being. “He’s here too.”

 

That cold, aching emptiness in her chest constricted and burned hot. “Is… is h-he _…” Is he alright? Busy? Taken? Married?_ “Is he happy?” she breathed.

 

Sven patted her hand, “You can see for yourself. Come, I’ll take you to him.”

 

Anna swallowed, hard, and then quickly mounted her horse to follow him.

 

~*~

 

They crested a low ridge overlooking a narrow gravel strand that stretched along a blue-gray inlet. A small wooden cabin with a stone chimney was nestled in a copse of trees, and a mostly-completed longboat rested in the snow and gravel not fifty paces from where she stood, and there he was. “Kristoff…” Anna’s breath caught in her throat and her hand rose up to press at the hot, tight knot in her chest. He wore loose breeches and a sleeveless tunic despite the chill. His hair was longer, swept back and tied at the nape of his neck with a narrow length of leather. He had intricate loops and whorls inked onto his chest, shoulder, and arm, almost like a _manica_. His posture was less guarded as he worked with a hammer on the side of the boat. He looked calm, happy in his work. He looked magnificent.

 

Kristoff pounded a nail into the gunwale of his longboat. He wiped his brow, and then grabbed another nail. He’d been working non-stop for weeks to complete the longboat. He finally felt that his people didn’t need him around constantly, that they could go a while without him bringing in meat or cutting ice or warding off invaders. He didn’t care that it was almost Winter, he would set sail the moment this longboat was finished. He had one last promise to keep.

 

Anna wanted to call out to him, to run to him, to tackle him to the ground and kiss him until they were both breathless and desperate, but something held her back. Months of searching, of hard travel over harder country, and still she hesitated. The breeze off of the fjord caught her braids as she stared longingly at him. _What if he’s happier now without me? What if he’s moved on? What if…what if he’s found one of his own people to share his life with? What if…_

 

Sven smacked his face with his palm and mumbled a few choice oaths, and then pressed two fingers to his lips and gave a sharp whistle. Kristoff turned at the piercing noise and froze, his hammer poised mid-strike. “Anna…” This wasn’t the first time he’d seen a vision of her, and each time it brought an odd mixture of comfort and pain. But this time was different. She wasn’t wearing her tattered gladiator rags or her fine rose silks, but furs and leathers similar to what women in his village wore. That brilliant copper hair that filled his dreams blew in the wind, but it wasn’t unbound like the last time he saw her. Instead, two braids whipped about her shoulders. But the biggest difference was that this vision didn’t waver or vanish if he turned too quickly. He watched in disbelief as his vision slid off her horse and hit the ground running.

 

He dropped his hammer and took one, two, three stiff-legged steps before bolting toward her in a dead run. Neither slowed when she jumped into his arms and clamped her own around his neck. He wrapped his arms around her and spun her around as he buried his face in her hair. “Please be real please be real please be real,” he prayed, bringing one hand up to cradle the back of her head. He pulled back and ran trembling hands lovingly along her cheeks, her brow, her neck, her jaw, all the while murmuring, “I’m not dreaming this time, am I? You’re r-really here? Please, _please_ be real! Please be here!”

 

She covered his hands with her own and gazed into eyes so full of hope and longing and love her heart ached. _Gods_ how she missed those warm amber depths! She gave him a crooked smile, and then called out, “Hey Sven! Still think we’re idiots?”

 

“Don’t make me come down there and dose the both of you _vitskertrs_!” he shouted back at her.

 

Kristoff gazed down at her as tears unabashedly filled his eyes. “It _is_ you,” he whispered, throat tight with emotion. “My Aeris…”

 

She smiled so bright it was like the first sunrise after six harsh months of winter darkness. She took her slender finger and traced the scar over his right eye from hairline to cheekbone, cupping his jaw with a gentle hand like she did back in the _ludus_. A year and a half’s worth of longing and love pooled in her brilliant blue eyes, spilled down her freckled cheeks. “My Kristoff…” she whispered, and then wrapped herself around him and buried her face in his chest. She turned his knees to water, and he sank to the ground, carrying her with him. She sat in his lap as they clung to each other, trembling, laughing and crying together, breathing each other in.

 

He cupped her cheeks in his hands, the giddy euphoria racing through him making him unusually shy. “Anna, may I... we me… I mean may I…”

 

“Kiss me,”

 

“Yeah,” he chuckled softly, gently tracing her lips with the pad of his thumb.

 

“That wasn’t a question.”

 

Kristoff blinked in surprise, eyes wide. “Wait, what? You mean I…”

 

“…can kiss me?” Anna laughed low in her throat, a sound that made his mouth dry as dust, and pinned him with a stormy glare that threatened to scorch the flesh from his bones. “I swear by all of your gods and mine, Kristoff, if you do not _take_ me, I will tie you to your boat and use you for target practice!”

 

Kristoff’s goofy grin turned hungry as he tangled his hands in her hair and captured her mouth with his.

 

~*~

 

Sven smiled fondly down at his two friends, who looked as if they were doing their damndest to never move from each other’s embrace ever again. _Idiots_ , he grinned. Kristoff laughed, a real, genuine laugh Sven hadn’t heard in a very long time, then hauled Anna up over his shoulder like he did the first time Sven saw her. She shrieked with laughter as he carried her towards his cabin.

 

“Aaaaaand that’s our cue to leave,” Sven chuckled. He unbuckled her saddlebags and dropped them to the ground, and then took the horse’s lead and walked her back down the path toward the village.

 

“Cue?” the former little chamber slave asked. When he saw the big northman leaving he hurried after him, his own horse in tow. “Leave? Wait, we’re leaving her here?”

 

“Don’t worry, we’ll see them again in a few,”

 

“A few?”

 

“Days.”

 

“ _Days_?!”

 

Sven looked puzzled. “Why, think they’ll be longer?”

 

The little man rubbed his bulbous nose with a spindly hand, and then smiled shyly, “Maybe? They only have so much food, right?”

 

Sven roared with laughter and clapped the little guy on the back so hard he almost pitched to the ground face-first. “What’s your name, friend?”

 

“Oloctavianus,”

 

Sven pulled a face. “That’s a mouthful, isn’t it? Why don’t we call you Olaf for short?”

 

He canted his head to the side, carefully considering the name. “I love it!” Olaf grinned.

 

~*~

 

Kristoff carefully closed the door behind him and stomped the ice off of his boots before kicking them off. He rubbed the cold off of his bare arms and crossed over to the low pallet of blankets and furs that was his bed, to the sleeping beauty curled up in it. He smiled softly at the wild tangle of her hair and the occasional snore that grumbled out of her as she slept soundly. Not that he blamed her; their last forty-eight hours had been… strenuous.

 

He carefully climbed in behind her and tucked her against the curve of his bare chest. She mumbled and sighed in her sleep, and snuggled closer to him. He buried his face in her hair and breathed her in. He felt a familiar sting pushing at his eyes, but he didn’t fight it anymore. He’d spent far too long fighting his feelings, so now he let the intense waves of gratitude, amazement, and love wash over him, her fragrant hair absorbing his happy tears and centering him in ways he never thought possible. He trailed his fingertips along the bare curve of her arm, down to her wrist and back up to her shoulder, where he gently dug into the muscles under her shoulderblade, then followed his fingers with his lips. “Kristoff?” she hummed low in her throat, practically purring.

 

“I have something I’d like to show you, love,” he murmured in her ear.

 

“Do I have to get up for it?”

 

“Only for a moment.”

 

“Alright. Let me find my clothes,”

 

She squeaked when he picked her up, blankets and all, and bundled her up against him. His breath caught when she burrowed her face into the crook of his neck and placed a warm hand on his chest. He marveled that something as simple as her touch could evoke such a strong reaction in him. He cradled her closer to him and carried her outside to a low rocky outcrop overlooking the inlet, to the nest of blankets and furs he made for them. There was no fire, but once he settled into the pile and tucked them in there was obviously no need.

 

“What are we doing?” she asked, looking up at him as he leaned against a boulder and pulled her close.

 

“Watching the sky,” he replied as he ran his fingers gently through her hair. She smiled against his chest, feeling warm and content all the way down to her bones.

 

The setting sun was a fading orange blaze on the southern horizon; the sky surrounding it striped magenta and violet. Anna watched, bemused. Kristoff’s heart beat a solid, steady rhythm against her cheek, and she reveled in it. She absently let a slender finger trace the intricate patterns of his inked _manica_ , and grinned when his heartbeat quickened beneath her ear. Smiling, her hands wandered further afield, tracing the muscled outlines of his chest, his ribs, his abdomen, teased the waist of his homespun trousers sitting low on his hips. She kissed him right over his heart, and sighed when his arms tightened around her as she ghosted her lips up to his collarbone.

 

She shifted so that she straddled his lap, wrapped her arms around his neck, tangled her fingers in his unbound hair, and pressed her forehead against his as he rested his hands on her hips. She claimed his mouth with a warm, languid kiss. His lips moved with hers slowly, softly, savoring each moan and sigh. He consumed the contented moans bubbling up from her as his hands left trails of tingling warmth up and down her sides, her back, her breasts. They took their time because, for the first time in forever, time and distance had no meaning. They were together, and they had their forever ahead of them.

 

She leaned back to nuzzle at his nose, and then opened her eyes to gaze lovingly at him. She blinked, confused because his beautiful face was bathed in an ethereal blue-green light. He smiled and nodded up towards the sky. She looked up and gasped in wonder. Brilliant iridescent ribbons of light shimmered across the sky, blue and green light swirled and danced together from horizon to horizon. And then, off in the distance, came a crackling, hissing hum like the sound of a large campfire.

 

If there was one lesson life had taught him, it was that life didn’t always make sense. It’d been nearly eighteen months since he first held his _rudis_ , the symbol of his freedom, yet in that moment he didn’t feel free. He didn’t feel free the day he and Sven galloped through the northern gates and away from half a lifetime of bloody slavery, nor the day they crossed the sea that put Rome firmly at their backs. He’s been back in his homeland for over a year now, yet the sense of freedom still somehow eluded him.

 

But in that luminous moment he held the woman whom he’d freely given his heart, and knew without a doubt she had given him hers. He saw the Lights reflected in her eyes, watched her face glow with an inner joy so bright it rivaled the sky, and rejoiced at the boundless, unconditional love he saw in her endless azure depths.

 

It was that moment he finally and truly felt free.


	15. Epilogue 2: Smutpilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing plot-related happens with this one. This is just my first and maybe last attempt at writing smut. So if this isn’t your thing or, the gods forbid, you’re under the age of consent, don’t read it.
> 
> Heh, who are we kidding? You’re going to read it before you finish reading this part...
> 
> This one picks up right where the first Epilogue left off, so go read that so this isn’t so blatantly pwp…

 

Kristoff gazed, entranced, at the miracle who sat astride his hips. He lifted a hand to trace the shadowed curve of her cheek and neck, his fingertips whispered around the blue and green light as it danced on the freckled slope of her shoulder. He flattened his palm and circled it around her breast, cupping its soft heat in his palm, caressing her nipple with a calloused thumb. Her breath hitched and her eyes fluttered shut as she pressed into his touch. His breath shuddered in his chest when she shifted and rolled her hips against him, his arousal growing hard and hot between them. He reached around to grasp her backside and firmly pulled her down against him.

 

Their touch had grown more clear and confident over the last two days. Has it only been two days? In the beginning they were both bundles of frayed nerves and raw emotions, more skittish than a pair of wild deer in a wolf den. Anna tried explaining why she left Rome. Kristoff tried explaining why he was building his own longboat. They fumbled over their words, chuckling and blushing nervously. But soft smiles and love-struck glances soothed the anxiety and encouraged them to be brave, to dare to reach out, to trust that the other would be there to catch them. They spent a lot of time simply clinging to each other, hands touching the other cautiously, curiously, reassuringly…

 

_…Kristoff kicked the wooden door closed behind them and set Anna down carefully, reluctantly. He backed up, trailing his fingers down her arm, loath to let her go lest she vanish like smoke in the wind. He hastily lit a pair of tallow candles and walked over to the stone fireplace. He stirred up the coals banked in the ashes and fed them chunks of seasoned oak until a cheerful blaze warmed the tiny cabin. Satisfied, he stood and dusted his hands. He turned back to her and slowly stopped moving, mouth suddenly dry. Anna stood beside the door, eyes soft. She had placed an impressive number of_ pugiones _,_ siccae _, and even a_ gladius _on the table. She also removed her outer coat and sweater, leaving her in a homespun linen shirt not very different from his own that did little to hide her soft curves. The firelight made her hair glow a burnished copper, and he again wondered if she was really here with him._

_It wouldn’t be the first time his dreams fooled him._

_He reached out to touch her, to reassure himself of the reality of her presence, but he stopped short. Her arms wrapped protectively around her middle as she gazed around the interior of his small abode. It was beyond meager: just single snug room with a pallet of blankets and furs for a bed, a low table and bench, and a place to cook meals. Hooks on the walls held tools and weapons, simple handwoven rugs covered the stone floor, and a trunk shoved in the corner held clothes. His hand settled on the back of his neck and he chuckled nervously, “I know it isn’t fancy like your palace in Rome,”_

_“You have no idea how much I appreciate that,” she breathed. She smiled a small smile, which faltered when her eyes brushed against the fur-piled pallet._

_“Aeris… I, umm,” he stammered. He sensed her unease, and it magnified his own. “I know you said you’d use me for, uh, target practice and all if I, I mean if we, um…” She smiled that crooked half-smile that both calmed his nerves and quickened his heart. “But could I, for now I mean, umm, may I…” he spread his arms wide._

_Anna smiled gratefully and rushed into his embrace. He stumbled back a step, and then folded his arms around her, safe and warm and_ real _…_

 

…Yes, she was real, and warm and so soft under his hands. She rose up above him, and he draped a blanket over her bare shoulders. She grasped the edges and wrapped her arms around his neck, cocooning them in their shared warmth. She played with the hair cascading over his shoulders before digging her fingertips in to massage his scalp. He nuzzled her cheek, tipped her head up to leave a trail of kisses along the underside of her jaw.

 

Their first time was timid and slow, a mix of gentle trepidation that burned away as they melted into each other. Then they spent the next two days exploring, experimenting. They had taken each other slow and curious, as well as fast and frenetic. Once Kristoff was sure he wasn’t going to hurt her he relaxed, eager to learn how to pleasure her, what would make her writhe and keen beneath him.

 

If he was eager, Anna was voracious…

 

_…They walked along the water’s edge, the faint fall sun casting long shadows along the gravel strand. “So let me get this straight,” he said, hitching her saddlebags higher up his shoulder. “You organized and trained forty warrior priestesses to take your place guarding your sister?”_

_“Kai helped, but yes.”_

_“Are you sure that’s going to be enough?” he joked._

_She snorted out a laugh, pushing his arm playfully before twining their fingers together. “I would’ve trained more, but I had to leave. Empress’s orders.”_

_“Oh? What did she order?”_

_He glanced down at her, surprised to see her blushing a vivid scarlet. “She, um, more or less told me to, ah…, to find you and not come back until we, erm, had at least a half dozen kids for her to spoil,” she rushed that last bit out almost as fast as her blush sped down her neck._

_Kristoff blinked, feeling both a rush of tenderness in his heart at the thought of her with child, with_ their _child, and a sweet searing burn of desire pulsing deep in his belly. He scooped her up off her feet, arms under her back and legs, and crushed his mouth to hers in a fierce, scorching kiss that set fire to the air about them._

_“Wha-what was that for?” Anna panted hard against his lips._

_“Empress’s orders,” he grinned._

_She looked up at him, and he watched her eyes darken and flood with hunger before she grabbed his neck and pulled him down for another breath-stealing kiss. She used his shoulders as leverage to pull herself up and out of his arms and wrap her legs tightly around his torso, moaning into his mouth when he grabbed a handful of her silken hair in one hand and stroked her backside with the other._

_They barely made it to the pallet before they ripped what little clothing they bothered with off…_

 

…For two days they both had a very difficult time keeping their hands to themselves. But, to be honest, they weren’t trying very much. Or at all.

 

One time Anna tackled him after he walked in the door carrying firewood. He toppled over onto the braided rug and groaned when she latched onto the musky, stubbled sweetness of his neck and grabbed his wrists so she could lift his hands up and press them to the pert fullness of her breasts.

 

Another time she pushed him down into the pallet, digging her fingers into the corded muscles of his back. Yes he moaned beneath her ministrations, but moaned louder every time she teased him. She pressed her breasts against his back, slid her fingers up and down his sides, whimpered in his ear as she ground her center against him until he couldn’t take it anymore. With a guttural growl he reached back and pulled her under him, took a tight, distended nipple deep into his mouth, and buried himself in her slick heat.

 

And another time Kristoff awoke to the feel of her slight weight pinning his thighs, the sensation of her hair gliding down his chest and abdomen, and opened his eyes in time to watch in awe as she wrapped her nimble fingers around his length and took him into her mouth.

 

She was as curious as she was ardent, and he gave as good as he got.

 

He brought in a bucket of fish caught in the fjord and found her standing at the table washing root vegetables, wearing nothing but a long shirt. _His_ shirt. His sleeves were rucked at her wrists, his hem brushed her upper thighs, and his collar hung off one shoulder and framed a galaxy of freckles on her collar bones he suddenly ached to taste. He walked briskly across the cabin and enveloped her in a fierce embrace, caressing her first over, then under his shirt. Calloused hands trailed up the smooth plane of her abdomen, circling then stroking her breasts. Her head fell back against his chest as he stroked the fingers of one hand over the stiff peak of her nipple while the other slithered down and delved deep into her center. She pressed back into him, twisting her hips against him and with a low growl that echoed his own needy rumbles. She lifted her arms to capture his neck and pulled him down to nibble on his ear as he suckled on her freckled shoulder.

 

He didn’t bother with the pallet. He took her right there against the table.

 

Later they sat facing each other, silent except for the crackle of the fireplace. Warm hands brushed gently over ivory skin, diligently searching for old wounds to heal. Soft kisses followed each caress, pressed into each scar. He tilted her back and she sank into the warm furs with a breathy sigh. She moaned in delight and savored the meticulous attention he paid to each of her old hurts. She was delirious with pleasure, so entranced she didn’t notice where he was until she felt him nudge her thighs apart and press a firm, languid kiss into her softness…

 

_…“So which side’s yours?”_

_“Technically it’s all mine, Aeris,” Kristoff deadpanned, throwing another log onto the fire. “But I find I sleep close to the edge.”_

_He turned, and if he thought about it he shouldn’t have been surprised. She was curled on her side on the edge of the pallet, eyes closed in a completely unbelievable attempt to appear asleep which was completely ruined by her failed attempt to not smile. He grinned ruefully as he strode across the room and assaulted her feet. He found out yesterday that she’s fiendishly ticklish, and he was merciless with this knowledge._

_She flailed and howled with laughter. He spread himself out over her, pinning her hands over her head with one hand while digging into her side with the other. She shrieked as she giggled and squirmed against him. She threw her head back, cackling, and he was about to attack her neck with the week’s worth of stubble on his chin but the sight of that slender ivory column, open and inviting, changed his mind. He bent down and kissed the soft spot right under her ear, pulling gently at her skin, and then ghosted down her throat, tracing patterns in her freckles with his tongue. She gasped, and then sighed, melting under him before arching up, keening for his touch. Everything about her was intoxicating and he lost himself in the sound of her sighs, the scent of her skin, the taste of her lips, the heat of her center as he slipped into her…_

 

…The blanket he draped over her slithered off her bare shoulders. Steam rose from her sweat-drenched body and mouth as she panted against him, the vapor from his own labored breath mixing with hers and rising to touch the light-stained sky as he nipped at her swollen bottom lip. Her eyes were dilated and dark with want, the scintillating lights in the sky reflecting sharply off her near-onyx orbs as they bored into his own lust-filled gaze. She pressed her forehead against his as she whispered a single word across his lips. “Please,” …

 

_…Earlier that day they gathered fresh snow to melt for water. They walked down the forested path, the sunlight bright on the icy ground. “So you’re serious?”_

_“Yes, I’m serious. Why is that hard to believe?”_

_“Because you’re very good at it.”_

_“I thought you hadn’t before either.”_

_“I haven’t. Doesn’t mean I don’t have opinions now.”_

_“Fair enough,” he blushed._

_“There are_ so _many Patrician ladies who are dirty rotten liars,” she grinned maliciously._

_“Oh, they tried. I took to sharpening a_ pugio _whenever they’d come to call. After the third or fourth one the rest took the hint and set their sights on easier prey. The other Gladiators didn’t mind.”_

_Anna giggled. Kristoff eyed her sideways, “And then this copper-haired spitfire showed up and ruined everything.”_

_“Hey!” she squawked._

_“Loud-mouthed, stubborn, completely ruined my plans.”_

_“_ Ruined _?!”_

_She dropped her clay jugs and tackled him from behind, taking his legs out from under him. He dropped his own snow containers and rolled with the hit. They grappled like children fighting over a toy, growling and giggling at each other. She pinned his shoulders to the leaf-strewn ground, until he reached up to tickle her sides. She flinched and howled with laughter, and he flipped and pinned her beneath him._

_He stared down into her beautiful laughing face and felt a warm ache grow deep in his chest. “I love you,” he murmured, cupping her face and stroking his thumb along her freckled cheekbone._

_She gasped. Her eyes were so wide and defenseless, her face so open and vulnerable. Every barrier between them had vanished. He saw straight into her unguarded soul, saw the dichotomy of strength and tenderness, ferocity and fear, indomitability and fragility, all stitched together with threads of passion and devotion. She was the sunlight dancing on the edge of a blade, a warm fire on a cold night. She was everything._

_He gathered her into his arms and rested his forehead against hers. “I love you. Gods, I love you so much, Anna. My Aeris. Please, please stay with me. Let me stay with you. Let me love you.”_

_“Kristoff…”_

_“I don’t care if we go to Rome or stay here or go to the other side of the world. I love you. I’ll always love you. As long as I’m with you, I’ll be home. Please…”_

 

…She enveloped him with her delicious warmth, flushed and glowing with an inner light that rivaled the green and blue ribbons swirling in the sky above them. Grandpabbie told him a long time ago that the lights came from the stars reflecting off the armor of the warrior goddesses who chose the souls worthy to join the gods. Perhaps there was a sliver of truth to the old legend for there he was, loving and being loved by this goddess of a warrior woman who saved him. Who loved him. Who chose _him_.

 

Closer. He needed her _closer_. Kristoff wrapped his arms around her, crushed her to his chest, reveled in the slick softness of her skin pressed tightly to his. Her name was a breathless prayer in his throat, an exquisite sweetness on his tongue, an undying vow that spilled from his lips. She leaned back just far enough to cup his jaw in needy hands and take in his oath, humming her own fervent promise into his mouth as she bucked her hips and took him deeper into her flesh.

 

He stroked and squeezed her backside, digging his fingers into her warm, rounded flesh as he moved her, sliding her up and down his throbbing shaft as he thrust up into her hard and fast and desperate for completion. She panted against his lips, a steady stream of broken words and harsh curses and whimpering pleas for him to go harder, faster. He sensed the shuddering crest of her release straining against her control, fluttering and clenching around his cock so deliciously he bit down on her shoulder to contain his own release. All at once it snapped. Her back arched and she cried out again and again, her ecstasy echoed across the fjord as she trembled and writhed in his arms. He surrendered to her, ground her down hard against him and shuddered as his release filled her.

 

Panting, she wrapped warm arms around his head, pillowed her cheek against the tangle of his sweat-darkened hair. He rested limply in her arms, spent and satiated and so thoroughly in love. He caught her as she slid bonelessly down to curl against his chest. He pulled the blankets back over them and held her close, so incredibly warm and soft and real. She traced the patterns of his inked _manica_ , felt his heart beat under her ear, strong and steady, and knew without a shred of doubt what she wanted.

 

“We should do this every time the sky’s awake,” she murmured.

 

“The lights don’t go away until at least Spring,” he pointed out.

 

“Yeah, and?”

 

“And,” he trailed off, his heart suddenly pounding in his chest. She lifted her head to gaze lovingly into his hopeful amber eyes. “and you’ll be here?”

 

“You’re here,” she said simply, a firm statement of fact. “You’re here, love, so I’m home.”


	16. One Week Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm currently working on a sequel for Blood Games. This is a little drabble I wrote which kind of tees it up. Stay tuned!

A full week passed before Anna and Kristoff walked hand in hand up to the tiny village. They went for supplies, and to introduce her to his people. He warned her that they could be inappropriate and loud and overbearing, but she laid a gentle hand on his arm and smiled.

 

To say they were enthusiastic in their greetings would be a gross understatement. The entire village swarmed them, hugging her and clapping Kristoff on the back and chattering animatedly and hugging her some more. Sven was the only one not grinning widely. He had the sour look of someone who had lost a bet as he handed something to the grinning Oloctavianus. But then he smiled and laughed and joined in the welcome.

 

Sven’s statuesque friend, Suqi, put an end to it when she took Anna by the hand and led her away, along with at least a dozen other women. Before she knew what was happening she was stripped bare and scrubbed clean, then dressed in the softest leathers she had ever seen. They were a pale dove gray with white fur trim and beautiful embroidered embellishments along the collar, sleeves, leggings, and upturned boots. Her hair was brushed until it gleamed and intricately braided, with colorful crystals woven in with the plaits. Suqi clasped her hands with a warm smile and said, “Aeris, for Kristoff.” in Anna’s tongue. Anna blinked, surprised, and then smiled back just as warmly.

 

The women surrounded her as they walked her back, and she saw that Kristoff too had been worked over and dressed in matching leathers. He too was surrounded by an escort of village men, and was blushing bright red from his hairline down to his neck. Sven shoved him over to Anna, and then shoved them both down the narrow street. “Is this another one of those roll with it moments?” Anna laughed.

 

“No,” Kristoff said.

 

“Yes,” Sven grinned.

 

“Sven!” Kristoff snapped.

 

“Don’t you ‘Sven’ me, I don’t trust you two not to do anything stupid,” he gave them a final hard shove, and they stumbled to a halt in front of the oldest man Anna had ever seen. He was short, but straight-backed with scraggly hair and bushy eyebrows. He had a huge bulbous nose squatting under a pair of stern dark eyes. Anna tried gulping down her nerves. She looked around at the rest of his people, who were smiling widely at them, eyes bright and encouraging and definitely waiting for something big to happen.

 

“Kristoff? What’s going on?” she asked, trying not to sound alarmed. The fact that his hand covered his eyes did little to calm her nerves.

 

“It’s, ah, well, um,” he stammered.

 

“Kristoff?” her anxiety ratcheted up several notches.

 

“They’ve, um, prepared us for, ah,”

 

“ _Kristoff_!”

 

“for a handfasting ceremony,” he blurted out.

 

“Hand… fasting?” she cocked her head to the side, face blank and uncomprehending.

 

“It’s one of our traditions,” he tried to explain. “It’s, ah, a public exchange of vows, joining two people as one.”

 

Anna’s eyes grew wide. “You mean like a wedding?”

 

“Um, yeah,” he blushed crimson.

 

“Right _now_?!”

 

“I know! I’m sorry, Aeris,” he sighed as he dropped his eyes to his feet. “I warned you my people were overbearing and inappropriate and loud. And courtships up here tend to be short since the cold season is so long. Don’t worry, I’ll tell them to stop.”

 

“No, wait!” Anna blurted out. Kristoff glanced up curiously. Anna nibbled at her bottom lip, and then asked, “Is… is this what you want?”

 

“Oh Aeris,” he whispered, his voice reverent and his gaze worshipful. “It’s more than I have a right to even hope for,” he reached out to her, and she placed her hands in his. “It’s been a year and a half since I left Rome, and every single day I dreamed of you. Of returning to you. I want nothing more from this life than to live it by your side. In my heart I’m already yours. Now that you’re here, I…” he tucked a tendril of her coppery hair behind her ear and rested his palm against her smooth cheek. “Yes, this is what I want.”

 

Anna trembled at his words, at his touch. Her eyes gleamed with unshed tears. “Even knowing who I am? What I am?”

 

“I’m up for the challenge,” he smiled softly as he brushed the pad of his thumb over her freckled cheek. She placed her hand over his and let her eyes drift shut as she leaned into his warmth. “And you, Aeris? Is this what you want?”

 

“Think I can’t handle it?”

 

He chuckled as he delicately cupped her jaw with his other hand.

 

“Yes,” she breathed. “Gods, yes I want this.”

 

Kristoff let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. He once again gathered her hands in his, brought them up to kiss each knuckle, and smiled. She pulled his hands to her lips, kissing them in return. Together they turned to the old man, whose stern eyes softened at the sight of two people so deeply in love.

 

The ceremony went off without a hitch, and the celebration afterward was raucous. Strong food and stronger drink was shared by all. Eventually they were both shoved again, this time out of the village and towards Kristoff’s cabin.

 

It was a full month before they returned.

 

Sven lost that bet too.


End file.
